ALEXANDER  IRVINE 


THE  MAGYAR 

A  Story  of  the  Social 
Revolution 


BY 

ALEXANDER    IRVINE 


THE  SOCIALIST  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
GIRARD,    KANSAS 


COPYRIGHT,  1911,  BY 
ALEXANDER  IRVINE 


THE  ViiL-Biu.ou  Co. 
Binghamton,  N.Y. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     A   HOUSE   DIVIDED 1 

II     STEWARDS  OF  THE  MYSTERIES 9 

III  A  DANGEROUS  NEOPHYTE 19 

IV  THE  MENACE  OF  IDEALISM 27 

V     "  AND  A   MAN'S   ENEMIES — "        35 

VI     A  FAIR  PROPAGANDIST  ENTERS 43 

VII     MUCKERS  IN  THE  MUSCLE  MARKET 51 

VIII  THE  LAW  OF  THE   FOREST   WRIT  IN   LEAD        .      .     61 

IX  "  TILL  ONE  MAN  is  DEAD  OH  OUT  "        ....     72 

X  THE  UNDERWORLD  OF  THE  STOCKADE       ....     82 

XI  "  THOUGH  I  MAKE  MY  BED  IN  HELL,  BEHOLD  THOU 

ART    THERE" 92 

XII     JIM   WHITECOTTON'S   LAST   LOAD 101 

XIII  A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION  AND  A  DASH  FOR  LIBERTY  107 

XIV  VOICES   FROM   THE  ABYSS         116 

XV  IN   WHICH   MRS.    RUDEN   GETS   A   FULL   DRAUGHT 

AT  THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  LIFE 124 

XVI     TROUBLE  IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE 135 

XVII  A  RACIAL  PARIAH  AND  A  SOCIAL  OUTCAST        .      .    138 

XVIII  GOD,  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  AND  "  LONE  STAR  "   .    145 


XIX  THE  PLANTER'S  WIFE  SEES  A  LIGHT 

XX  'LiJAH  OF   THE   STOCKADE         .... 

XXI  A  COMMUNITY  OF  FATHERLESS  CHILDREN 

XXII  A  WOMAN'S  VENTURE  IN  ETHICS 

XXIII  A  MAKER  AND  BREAKER  OF  CODES 

XXIV  'LIJAH  FINDS  A  CAVE  OF  ADULLAM 


155 

161 
170 
176 
182 
194 


15JM802 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXV  THE  REVENGE  OF  "  LONE  STAR  " 

XXVI  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  BLINKING  BEAST 

XXVII  "THE  SNOW  CHILD" 


XXVIII    NIHILISM  OR  SOCIALISM — WHICH  ? 


PAGE 
.  205 
.  212 
.  223 
°29 


XXIX  "JUST   MARA" 240 

XXX  THE  CAFE  COSMOPOLITE 251 

XXXI  A  DEDICATION  IN  THE  GHETTO 258 

XXXII  A  MIDNIGHT  CONFERENCE        263 

XXXIII  LIGHT  AFTEB  DARKNESS  .  271 


DEDICATION 

"I  am  convinced  that  the  ideas  of  humanity  and  civ 
ilization  would  be  better  served  if  the  torch  were  applied 
to  every  jail  in  Alabama.  It  would  be  more  humane 
and  far  better  to  stake  the  prisoner  out  with  a  ring 
around  his  neck  like  a  wild  animal  than  to  confine  him 
in  places  we  call  jails  that  are  reeking  with  filth  and 
disease  and  alive  with  vermin  of  all  kinds.  They  are 
not  only  harbingers  of  disease,  but  they  arc  unquestion 
ably  nurseries  of  death. 

"If  the  State  of  Alabama  wishes  to  kill  its  convicts  it 
should  do  it  directly — not  indirectly." 

DR.  SHIRLEY  BRAGG, 

President  of  the  Convict  Board  of  the  State  of  Alabama, 
1906. 

To  my  brothers  and  sisters — white  and  black — in  the 
stockades  and  other  hells  of  Alabama,  hundreds  of  whom 
I  have  seen  in  this  slow  inhuman  process  of  murder,  I 
dedicate  this  book. 

ALEXANDER  IRVINE. 
Happy  Hollow  Farm, 

Peekskill,  N.  Y., 
April,  1911. 


THE  MAGYAR 

A  STORY  OF  THE  SOCIAL  REVOLUTION 


CHAPTER  I 

A    HOUSE    DIVIDED 

"My  dear,"  said  the  minister's  wife,  "you  are  per 
fectly  welcome  to  your  nearness  to  the  heart  of  the  great 
unwashed — but  I  want  something  more  sanitary!" 

"No  one  ever  accused  you,  dear,"  he  retorted,  "of 
any  hankering  in  that  direction — and  if  I  am  welcome 
to  it,  why  this  fuss  every  time  we  talk  about  it?" 

"I  have  no  objection  to  your  preaching  to  them,"  she 
said,  "but  to  bring  them  here  as  your  guests  is  a  little 
more  than  a  refined  taste  can  stand." 

"Are  they  offensive?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  replied  sharply,  "very  offensive!" 

He  smiled  as  he  spread  over  his  knees  the  evening 
paper. 

"It  isn't  so  much  what  occurs  here,"  she  continued, 
' '  as  what  it  leads  to ;  they  invite  you  to  all  sorts  of  dis 
agreeable  mass  meetings  and  protest  gatherings — and 
you  attend  them  all ! " 

"You  don't  object  to  a  Chamber  of  Commerce  feed 
where  we  wear  our  finer}',  my  dear;  and  if  my  con 
science — 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  interrupting  him,  "there  goes 
your  conscience  again.  I,  too,  have  a  conscience ;  but 
I  see  to  it  that  it  doesn't  rob  my  children  of  food,  cloth 
ing  and  an  education!" 


2  THE  MAGYAR 

""We  might  differ,  also,  on  what  constitutes  an  edu 
cation,"  he  suggested. 

"Yes — we  undoubtedly  might — as  we  do  on  all  other 
things;  but — " 

"Well,  let  us  not  go  over  it  again — 

"I  have  one  request  to  make,"  she  said  seriously. 
' '  I  hope  you  will  not  be  stubborn,  but  grant  it :  you  will 
not  get  mixed  up  in  that  affair  at  the  City  Hall,  will 
you?" 

"Our  annual  church  meeting  occurs  the  same  night, 
and  my  first  duty  is  there,  of  course;  but  if  we  finish 
our  business  in  reasonable  time,  I  shall  have  to  accept 
the  challenge  of  the  labor  men." 

"A  challenge?" 

"Yes. — To  you  it's  an  invitation;  but  to  me — a  chal 
lenge  !  Goodman  sent  the  circular  and  penciled  a  post 
script:  'Shall  we  have  one  minister  out  of  fifty?'  ; 

Stephen  Ruden  and  his  wife  were  having  their  usual 
heart  to  heart  talk  after  the  retirement  of  their  three 
children.  He  was  forty,  of  strong  athletic  build,  and 
handsome.  His  wife  was  the  daughter  of  a  New  York 
business  man.  She  was  thirty-five  and  considered  beau 
tiful.  She  had  tasted  some  of  the  pleasures  of  society, 
but,  as  the  wife  of  a  clergyman  who  had  little  taste  for 
such  things,  she  found  it  increasingly  difficult  to  sat 
isfy  her  social  ambitions.  They  had  been  married  ten 
years  and  had  three  children — two  girls  and  a  boy. 
They  had  occupied  the  parsonage  of  the  Fairport 
Church  in  a  suburb  of  New  Oxford,  Connecticut,  for 
five  years.  He  was  popular,  but  considered  an  im 
practical  dreamer  by  the  business  men  who  were  his 
most  intimate  friends.  He  was  something  of  a  prophet, 
a  good  deal  of  a  scholar,  but  very  little  of  a  pastor. 

Mrs.   Ruden  saw  the   trend   of  the   conversation — it 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  3 

had  gone  that  way  so  often.  She  tried  a  more  concili 
atory  method. 

"Stephen,  dear,"  she  said,  looking  into  his  hazel 
eyes,  "are  \ve  forever  to  run  atilt  to  the  thinking  of  the 
best  people?" 

A  low  chuckle  in  reply  annoyed  her. 

"Sweetheart,"  he  said  a  moment  later,  "your  best 
people  do  not  think — they  run  atilt  of  those  who  do." 

"Do  your  labor  men  think?" 

"Not  over  much." 

"Who,  then?" 

"A  few  who  can  afford  it." 

~"Yes — "  she  said  sarcastically,  "a  few — and  you 
are  one  of  them ;  a  privileged  few  Avhose  wives  and  chil 
dren  pay  the  price  with  starved  and  naked  bodies." 

"Madeline,  dear,  don't  get  excited.  Let  us  talk  with 
out  irritation.  Whom  do  you  mean  by  'the  best  peo 
ple?'  The  Sloans,  the  Withertons?  They  are  the 
moneyed  people.  'Best'  means  character  and  intelli 
gence.  Most  of  your  mushroom  aristocracy  have 
neither.  Is  there  a  man  or  woman  in  that  crowd  that 
ever  read  a  good  book  ?  Their  intellects  are  of  the  cash 
register  variety,  and  as  for  religion — my  dear,  I  don't 
want  to  be  unfair — but  you  know  deep  down  in  your 
heart  that  they  don't  know  what  it  is!" 

"That  is  a  fine  comment  on  your  five  years'  preach 
ing,  isn't  it?" 

"It  may  be  and  it  may  not — you  can't  make  a  silk 
purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear." 

"Why  do  you  stay  then?" 

"The  answer  is  simple.  I  give  them  what  they  want 
— a  literary  discourse  on  Sunday  morning  delivered 
with  some  degree  of  dignity  and  the  ordinary  trim 
mings,  and  I  am  at  liberty  to  preach  to  what  we  are 


4  THE  MAGYAR 

pleased  to  call  'the  masses'  in  the  evening,  and  go 
where  I  am  needed  the  rest  of  the  week." 

' '  Stephen,  I  know  you  get  a  crowd ;  but  what  do  you 
give  them?  Literary  criticism,  ethical  culture,  and 
moral  discourses!  Do  you  call  that  'the  gospel?'  : 

"We  won't  discuss  that,  my  dear.  I  know  you  think 
I  have  lost  my  faith — but  I  have  only  sloughed  off  some 
superstitions  that  befog  the  soul." 

"And  have  acquired  a  few  opinions  that  beggar  your 
family  and  keep  your  friends  apologizing  for  you  every 
time  they  go  into  society  ! ' ' 

"This  embarrassment  of  my  friends  is  new — I  have 
not  heard  of  it  before." 

"Why,  at  the  Chesters  the  other  night,  Mr.  Chester 
said  he  believed  you  were  drifting  into  Socialism!" 

"Poor  Chester!" 

"Poor  Chester — indeed!  He  stands  for  something 
in  the  community." 

"What,  for  instance?" 

' '  He  is  President  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce ! ' ' 

"I  know  he  is.  And  he  lives  in  a  sixty  thousand  dol 
lar  house,  owns  a  fifteen  thousand  dollar  automobile, 
has  his  name  in  the  Connecticut  Blue  Book;  but  a  man 
may  have  all  these  things  and  only  a  thirty  cent  soul 
with  which  to  enjoy  them!" 

' '  It  seems  to  me  that  a  minister  who  characterizes  his 
parishioners  as  'thirty-cent  souls'  needs  to  restudy  his 
Bible." 

"My  dear,  I  haven't  so  characterized  them.  I  have 
in  my  parish  some  of  the  finest  souls  in  the  world. 
There's  the  widow  Ellsworth  on  the  hill,  as  worthy  of 
a  biography  as  Florence  Nightingale.  There's  old 
Mrs.  Lines  whose  hands  are  like  the  claws  of  an  eagle 
from  opening  oysters.  Much  less  holy  women  have 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  5 

been  canonized.  There's  the  cripple  Barnet  who  runs 
the  peanut  stand  at  the  bridge.  He's  a  saint  of  God. 
I  could  name  a  score  of  such — all  of  them  profoundly 
religious,  but  afraid  to  open  their  mouths  in  church 
matters  because  they  can't  show  up  big  at  the  annual 
pew  auction.  On  Sundays  they  sit  under  the  gallery, 
out  of  sight." 

"Stephen,  I  am  so  tired  of  hearing  you  talk  of  that 
pew  auction  every  time  we  mention  church  matters. 
Why  don't  you  preach  against  it  or  find  a  parish  where 
there  is  no  such  thing?" 

"I  have  preached  against  it;  but  it's  the  one  chance 
in  the  year  for  Waddell  to  palm  off  his  stale  jokes,  and 
for  the  Chesters,  Sloans  and  Withertons  to  outbid  each 
other  for  the  choice  lots  in  the  house  of  God." 

Mrs.  Ruden  was  irritated.  She  had  heard  all  this 
before. 

"I  don't  care  what  you  say  to  the  contrary,"  she  al 
most  screamed,  "I  want  to  be  among  people  who  suc 
ceed — people  who  are  dominant.  There  is  a  funda 
mental  lack  in  these  anaemic  saints  of  yours!"  She 
arose  and  went  toward  the  door — hesitated  for  a  mo 
ment  with  the  knob  in  her  hand.  Her  face  was 
flushed,  and  her  lips  trembled.  She  had  a  final  word 
with  a  keen  edge  with  which  she  desired  in  her  passion 
to  end  the  controversy. 

"Say  it,  my  dear;  it  will  relieve  your  tension,"  he 
said  quietly,  as  he  watched  her. 

' '  Stephen —  '  she  said,  ' '  blood  tells  !  You  have  in 
your  veins  the  blood  of  the  foreign  proletariat — and 
with  all  your  learning  and  exquisite  manners,  you  can't 
quite  hide  the  fact  that  you  are  different — that  in  your 
veins  flows  the  blood  of  a  strange  race!" 

Ruden  slept  in  his  library.     They  had  forgotten  to 


6  THE  MAGYAR 

arrange  his  couch.  He  arranged  it  himself,  and  pre 
pared  to  retire.  This  combination  of  library  study  and 
bedroom  was  small,  and  every  available  inch  of  space 
was  covered  with  books  and  pictures.  The  largest  pic 
ture  in  the  room  was  a  copy  of  a  painting — the  work  of 
a  Norwegian.  It  was  a  group — Jesus,  in  the  garb  of  a 
mechanic  with  a  square  paper  hat  on  his  head,  stands 
talking  by  the  wayside  to  a  couple  of  laborers.  A 
priest  is  passing,  and  as  he  passes,  he  looks  over  his 
shoulder  at  Jesus.  There  is  contempt  and  a  sneer  on 
the  priest's  face.  The  minister  stood  before  it  in  deep 
contemplation. 

"He  was  despised  and  rejected  of  men — a  man  of 
sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief!"  he  muttered  as 
his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  Then  he  stole  quietly  to  his 
wife's  room.  She  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  pressing  a  hand 
kerchief  to  her  eyes.  He  knelt,  bent  over  and  kissed 
her  lips,  muttering  softly  in  a  trembling  voice — "Peace 
troubled  soul — peace  of  God  to  you  ! ' '  He  retreated  as 
softly  as  he  had  entered. 

"Stephen!"  she  called,  as  he  reached  the  door, 
"Stephen!" 

He  returned,  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa. 

"There  is  a  mystery  about  you,"  she  said,  "and  I 
have  not  been  able  to  solve  it  in  twelve  years!" 

"The  mystery  deepens  every  time  I  find  it  impossi 
ble  to  agree  with  you,  doesn't  it?"  he  asked. 

"That  is  your  usual  subtle  way  of  driving  me  back 
upon  myself;  nevertheless  there  is  an  orientalism  about 
you  that  you  seem  unable  or  unwilling  to  explain  satis 
factorily.  ' ' 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "what's  the  use  of  arguing? 
You  are  tired,  and  it's  late.-  Let's  be  content  with  the 
battle  as  it  ended  in  mv  den.'; 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  7 

"What  is  your  conception  of  life,  anyway?"  she 
asked,  in  a  calmer  manner. 

"It's  a  different  thing  to  different  people,  dear.  It's 
a  blessing  to  some,  and  a  curse  to  others.  To  one 
man  it's  a  mission;  to  another,  a  joke;  to  a  third,  a 
problem,  and  to  a  fourth,  the  mere  struggle  of  the 
beast  to  exist." 

"What  is  it  to  you,  Stephen?" 

"I  hardly  know,  dear, — a  journey,  perhaps.  The 
road  is  at  times  rough — then  smooth.  I  have  four  trav 
eling  companions — you  and  the  children.  There  is  work 
to  do  as  we  go  along ;  burdens  to  be  borne  for  the  heavy 
laden,  joys  and  sorrows  to  be  shared  with  pilgrims  we 
meet  on  the  way.  Sometimes  the  sky  overhead  is  blue 
and  sunshine  floods  the  road;  sometimes  heavy  clouds 
hang  low  and  cast  deep  shadows.  Parts  of  the  road  are 
besprinkled  with  flowers,  and  others  with  thorns  that 
annoy — and  sharp  stones  that  cut  the  weary  feet  of  the 
travelers. ' ' 

"And  the  destination?" 

"Ah,  yes, — the  destination — the  theologians  put  all 
the  emphasis  there  and  have  neglected  the  road.  When 
I  first  met  you,  I  was  doing  that  myself,  and  much  of 
our  lack  of  harmony  is  due  to  the  fact  that  I  have 
abandoned  speculation  about  future  heavens  and  hells 
peopled  with  gods  and  demons!" 

"And  what  have  you  left?" 

"I  have  the  road!" 

"Stephen,  you  tire  me  so  with  your  parables  and 
dreams.  I  wish  you  would  get  down  to  earth  and  be 
practical.  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  'the  road'?" 

"Life,  my  dear, — the  common  Me!" 

"I  don't  like  to  have  you  use  that  word  'common' 
every  time  you  speak." 


8  THE  MAGYAR 

"I  know,  dear;  with  others  you  have  the  itch  to  be 
uncommon — to  possess  what  others  cannot  possess,  to 
do  what  others  cannot  do.  That  is  wThy  you  so  stoutly 
defended  Mrs.  Bowen  when  she  donated  a  set  of  silver 
individual  communion  cups  so  that  she  wouldn't  have 
to  take  the  symbol  of  the  blood  of  Christ  from  the  same 
cup  as  her  neighbors  who  wrere  ditchers,  diggers  and 
oyster-openers ! ' ' 

Mrs.  Ruden  arose  like  a  flash,  and  cried,  "Stephen, 
how  can  you  say  what  you  know  is  not  true?  It  was 

because  she  had  to  drink  after  old  Deacon  T who 

comes  to  every  service  with  tobacco  in  his  mouth!" 

"Don't  get  excited,  please.  Sit  down,  and  I  will  tell 
you  what  I  understand  by  'the  road.'  ' 

"Oh — it's  hopeless — it's  hopeless!  I  can't  stand  it!" 
She  stretched  herself  again  on  the  sofa,  and  sobbed. 

"I  sympathize  with  Mrs.  Bowen  on  the  tobacco 
question,"  he  said,  "but  I  have  my  own  version  from 
her.  Anyway,  that's  unimportant.  Let  me  talk  to  you 
quietly  a  few  minutes,  and  then  we  will  retire." 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  hear  your  platitudes  about  the 
sufferings  of  your  common  people.  I'm  tired  of  it. 
Talk  to  me  of  success — not  failure ;  of  beauty — not  ugli 
ness  ;  of  intelligence — not  stupidity ! ' ' 

"No,  dear,  I'll  go  to  my  den,  beaten;  you  have  the 
last  word,  anyway, — that's  something." 


CHAPTER  II 

STEWARDS    OF    THE    MYSTERIES 

"STEPHEN,"  said  Mrs.  Ruden  in  a  jocular  vein  a  few 
days  before  the  annual  parade  of  church  statistics  to  be 
held  May  1st,  1905,  "I'm  going  to  play  politics  myself 
at  the  annual  meeting." 

"Good!"  he  said,  "will  you  let  me  in  on  the  plot?" 

"How  can  I  when  you  are  the  subject  of  it?" 

"I'll  meet  you  half  way,  Madeline, — I'll  give  you 
my  plan  of  campaign  if  you  will  give  me  yours.  How's 
that?" 

"You'll  play  fair,  Stephen?" 

"My  dear—" 

"Hush!" — she  put  her  hand  playfully  over  his 
mouth — ' '  of  course,  you  will ! ' ' 

"Well,  since  it's  your  play,  what's  your  trump  card, 
Madeline?" 

"First — a  bean  supper  at  the  church — it  won't  be 
ready  on  time.  The  meeting  will  open  with  prayer — 
Deacon  Thurston  will  pray  whether  you  ask  him  or 
not.  I'll  report  for  the  Ladies'  Guild — my  report  takes 
half  an  hour  to  read;  then,  I'll  make  a  few  remarks. 
The  meeting  at  the  City  Hall  closes  at  ten — and  it 
takes  twenty-five  minutes  to  get  there — so!" 

"So — "  he  repeated,  smiling,  "that's  your  plot,  is 
it?" 

"Yes — now7  for  yours." 

"Mine's  more  simple:  let  things  take  their  natural 

9 


10  THE  MAGYAR 

course,  or,  even  take  your  unnatural  and  political 
course;  and,  as  I  said  before,  if  we  finish  in  time — to 
take  the  car  to  City  Hall." 

"But  if  you  can't  get  there  before  ten  what's  the  use 
of  starting?" 

"Look  here,  Madeline,  I'll  make  a  simpler  compact 
with  you:  if  the  chairman  of  the  standing  committee, 
the  treasurer  or  the  secretary  are  at  the  church  meet 
ing,  I  will  give  it  up  and  come  home  with  you !  If 
they  are  absent,  you  will  not  object  to  my  going,  will 
you?" 

"Are  they  to  be  at  the  City  Hall?" 

"I  think  so." 

"To  watch  you?" 

"No — to  watch  their  financial  interests!" 

"Impossible!" 

"Do  you  agree  to  the  compact?" 

"Are  they  stockholders?" 

"All  of  them;  and  if  they  have  time  only  for  one 
meeting,  why  shouldn't  I  take  time  for  both?" 

"Then  I'll  call  off  the  bean  supper,"  she  said 
slowly. 

"And  Deacon  Thurston's  prayer  also?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Don't!  Call  off  the  prayer — let  the  bean  festival 
go  on.  It's  the  only  healthy  normal  thing  in  the  line  of 
church  festivals. ' ' 

"Stephen!" 

"I  mean  it.  Everybody  is  at  home  around  a  bean- 
pot.  They  smile  and  converse  freely  and  relax  and 
unlimber.  There's  a  democratic  atmosphere  around  an 
ecclesiastical  bean-fest  that  I  find  nowhere  else.  At 
other  festivals  they  assume  sainthood;  they  sit  like 
gravestones  and  envelope  themselves  with  outward  and 


STEWARDS  OF  THE  MYSTERIES  11 

visible  signs  that  are  out  of  touch  and  keeping  with  an 
inward  natural  life." 

"You  are  diverting  my  attention,  Stephen.  I  dread 
your  appearance  at  that  City  Hall  meeting.  I  am 
worrying  myself  ill  over  it." 

"Let  us  agree,  then,  that  if  the  principal  officers  of 
the  church  are  not  at  the  annual  meeting  that  you  will 
offer  no  objection  to  my  attending  the  latter  part  of  it." 

' '  AVell,  I  suppose  that  is  all  there  is  left  for  me  to  do. ' ' 

The  minister  attended  the  meeting  and  made  a  speech. 

Next  morning,  in  a  little  stove  store  near  the  Fair- 
port  church,  a  group  of  churchmen  met  and  talked  the 
situation  over.  A  few  nights  later  the  minister  had  a 
call  from  a  lawyer  who  represented  the  discontented. 

"Of  course,  I  come  as  your  personal  friend,"  he  said, 
by  way  of  introduction. 

"Yes,"  Stephen  said,  "I  know — go  on." 

"They  are  hot!"  he  said. 

"Who?" 

"You  know — these  men  of  means." 

"I  don't  know — name  them." 

He  named  the  men  who  had  been  at  the  City  Hall 
meeting,  and  told  of  their  deliberations  in  the  stove  store. 

' '  So  they  think  I  am  a  Socialist,  do  they  ? ' ' 

"They  have  no  doubt  of  it  nowr;  and,  as  your  friend, 
I  want  to  clear  the  matter  up." 

"I  don't  know  \vhat  Socialism  is,"  said  the  minister. 
"I  have  never  read  a  book  on  it — none  of  my  friends 
are  Socialists ;  but  if  what  I  said  at  the  City  Hall  is 
Socialism,  I  plead  guilty." 

A  week  later  Dr.  Bacon  was  called  to  the  parsonage 
to  attend  the  minister  in  one  of  his  monthly  attacks  of 
chills  and  fever;  for  ten  hours  he  had  been  in  its 
grip.  The  only  rest  of  the  day  came  about  six  o'clock. 


12  THE  MAGYAR 

Husband  and  wife  in  the  twilight  were  talking  over  the 
effects  of  the  public  hearing,  when  Ned  Carolan  was 
announced.  Ned  was  the  Diogenes  of  New  Oxford, 
and  had  come  to  congratulate  the  parson  on  his  public 
spirit — the  second  time  Carolan  was  ever  known  to  do 
such  a  thing. 

"The  doctor  has  given  positive  orders,"  said  Mrs. 
Ruden  to  Ned,  "that  Mr.  Ruden  is  to  be  on  no  account 
disturbed. ' ' 

"Will  ye  do  something  for  me,  madam?" 

"With  pleasure,"  said  the  minister's  wife,  in  her 
most  pleasant  vein. 

"Tell  the  doctor  to  go  to  - 

"Mr.  Carolan!" 

"Yes,  that's  me.     Tell  him  7  said  it!" 

Mrs.  Ruden  was  about  to  shut  the  door  when  Ned 
planted  his  number  ten  inside.  "No  you  don't!"  he 
said.  "I  want  to  see  Ruden  an'  ye  can  bet  yer  old 
shoes  I'm  a-goin'  t'  do  it — see?"  He  clamped  upstairs 
purposely  making  a  noise  and  shouting,  as  he  ascended 
— "Ruden!  where  are  ye?" 

"Come  in,  Ned,"  said  the  minister. 

Ned  looked  at  him.  "Ye  look  as  if  ye'd  swallowed  a 
butcher's  knife — sick  at  the  gizzard,  eh?" 

' '  I  've  been  shaking  the  house  to  its  foundations,  Ned ; 
but  I'm  getting  over  it  now." 

"Never  mind  the  house,"  said  the  visitor.  "Shake 
up  these  mealy-mouthed  suckers  in  yer  church ! ' ' 

Ruden  laughed. 

"See  here,  Ruden,"  he  said,  "I'll  be  gettin'  th'  toe 
of  yer  ol'  woman's  boot  in  a  minute.  She's  sputterin' 
like  a  wet  hen — so  what  I  've  got  t '  say,  I  '11  say  hot  off 
th'  bat.  These  holy  water  company  men  in  yer  church 
will  boot  ye  out  in  a  few  weeks,  an'  I  want  t'  give  ye  a 


13 

tip.  I've  got  a  contract  for  a  sewer,  an'  I'll  give  ye  a 
job  at  a  dollar  an'  two  bits  a  day.  Ye've  swung  a 
pick?" 

"Yes." 

"Good!  it's  a— sight  better  job  than  spoutin'  for  a 
livin'  among  these  daylight  robbers  of  Fairport.  I 
know  'em — they're  oysters — that's  what  they  are — and 
they've  ate  so  many  of  their  kind  that  their  busums 
heave  an'  swell  wi'  th'  tide!  Good  night!" 

A  minute  later  there  was  a  noise  like  the  report  of  a 
blast  of  dynamite — Ned  had  shut  the  door — -and  was 
gone.  Madeline,  pale  with  rage,  entered. 

"Is  your  friend,  Mr.  Carolan,  a  walking  delegate?" 
she  asked,  in  a  tone  of  bitter  irony. 

"No,"  Stephen  said,  laughing,  "he's  a  walking 
dynamo ! ' ' 

"Stephen,  it  sent  a  cold  chill  through  me  to  see  a 
glow  on  your  face  while  that  uncouth  man  was  talking 
to  you !  If  Mr.  Sloan  had  called  you  would  have  shut 
your  eyes  and  feigned  sleep." 

"There  is  a  difference." 

"I  should  say  there  is.  It's  a  pity  a  few  of  our  lady 
friends  were  not  here  to  entertain  Mr.  Carolan." 

"No,  dear,  ladies  are  not  in  Ned's  line.  He's  a 
priest — a  social  priest — and  is  the  agent  of  God  to 
watch  the  gang  of  rascals  that  misgovern  New  Oxford. 
They  throw  him  out  of  the  door  and  he  clambers  in 
through  the  window;  they  shut  the  committee-room 
door,  and  he  plants  himself  on  the  skylight!" 

"It's  too  (bad  that  one  of  your  deacons  or  one  of 
your  prominent  church  members  couldn't  so  distin 
guish  himself." 

"It  is,  dear,"  he  said,  taking  her  seriously;  "but 
I'm  afraid  that  is  hopeless.  They  have  preserved  their 


14  THE  MAGYAR 

lives  in  respectability,  and  lost  their  souls  in  the 
process." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  study  door. 

''There's  about  fifty  gintelmin  in  th'  parlor  t'  see 
Mister  Ruden,"  said  Nora,  the  Irish  servant. 

"It's  your  entire  standing  committee,  Stephen!" 
said  Mrs.  Ruden  on  her  return  from  greeting  them. 
"Y\That  on  earth  can  they  want?" 

: '  They  Ye  come  to  inform  me  of  a  raise  in  my  salary, ' ' 
he  said,  smiling. 

"They've  come  to  raise  Cain,  judging  by  their 
looks,"  said  the  woman,  who  hated  slang. 

In  the  five  years  of  his  pastorate,  there  had  been 
very  few  disagreements  of  any  kind.  The  minister 
had  no  apprehension. 

"Tell  them  I'll  be  down  in  a  few  minutes." 

Ten  minutes  later,  pale  and  trembling,  the  pastor 
greeted  eleven  stalwart  spiritual  leaders  of  his  Fairport 
parish. 

"Parson,"  said  Jed  Brewster,  "we've  come  to  hev  a 
friendly  chat  with  you,  an'  they've  asked  me  to  open 
up." 

"AYell,   open  up,   Jed!" 

A  mild  titter  went  around. 

"Them  sermons  on  th'  prophets  you've  been  givin' 
us  lately — they  're  a  triile  odd  for  you ! ' ' 

"Too  near  the  earth,  Jed?" 

"Waal — I  guess  that's  about  it.  But  I'm  only  one," 
continued  Jed;  "there  is  ten  others  here — they'll  hcv 
to  speak  for  themselves." 

So  they  spoke — one  after  another. 

"AYell,  if  you'll  excuse  me,"  said  Deacon  Saunders, 
"I  hcv  a  habit  of  speakin'  m'  mind,  an'  it  strikes  me 
like  this:  Them  prophets  away  back  there  done  a 


STEWARDS  OF  THE  MYSTERIES  15 

heap  of  screamin'  agin  riches.  Now,  I  ain't  rich,  so 
can't  be  accused  of  standin'  up  for  myself;  but  folks 
who  hev  some  of  this  world's  goods  in  our  church  hev 
been  mightily  affronted  at  what's  bin  said." 

"At  what  I  have  said,  or  the  prophets?"  asked  the 
minister. 

"P'hans  both  of  ye!"  said  the  deacon,  with  a  thin 
smirk. 

''I  may  be  dull,"  said  Brother  Davisnn,  "but  I 
never  could  understand  that  Old  Testament.  It's  out 
of  my  depth.  There's  so  much  fightin'  ;:n'  hate  there. 
1  like  the  New  Testament,  where  it's  all  love — love  for 
mine  every  time!" 

"How  many  more  have  ye  in  the  course,  parson?" 
asked  the  church  treasurer. 

"Two  more." 

"The  reason  I  ask  is  because  if  they  were  strung  out 
much  longer,  we  wouldn't  have  enough  income  to  pay 
the  coal  bills — much  less  the  pastor's  salary!" 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

"Brother  Stimson,"  said  Jed,  "let's  hear  from 
you." 

"I'm  not  so  particular  about  sermons,"  said  Stim 
son;  "but  that  sermon  on  'They  shall  walk  with  me  in 
white '  suited  me  down  to  the  ground. ' ' 

"Ye  can't  do  much  with  human  nature  when  it's  all 
riled  up,"  said  Deacon  Bowen,  when  it  came  his  turn 
to  speak.  "It's  all  right  for  an  evangelist  t'  nettle  us, 
for  he's  only  here  for  a  short  spell — as  ye  might  say; 
but  it's  sure  to  go  hard  with  a  regular  pastor,  who's 
sot  down  among  us  for  life." 

"Now  understand,  parson,"  said  Jed,  "we're  not 
here  to  put  up  a  kick,  but  just  t'  sorter  speak  so's  ye '11 
know  what's  in  th'  air,'? 


16  THE  MAGYAR 

"That's  so,"  broke  in  Stimson,  and  several  others 
nodded  approval  of  the  suggestion. 

Hans  Peterson  was  a  member  of  the  governing 
board  by  virtue  of  his  office  as  president  of  the  young 
people 's  society,  and  when  they  had  all  spoken,  he  said : 

"Them  sermons  seem  t'  have  hit  you,  brethren,  where 
the  rent  does.  They  struck  me  as  bein'  th'  best  talks 
I've  ever  heard;  but,  of  course,  I'm  no  judge." 

There  was  another  pause.  Each  man  had  delivered 
himself.  It  was  the  minister's  turn.  His  wife  sat 
in  the  next  room  within  hearing  distance,  but  out  of 
sight. 

"Well,  parson,"  said  Jed  Brewster,  "we'd  like  t' 
hear  from  you.  You  know  what  we  think  of  you — 
perhaps  we're  all  wrong  ourselves." 

"No — "  said  Ruden  slowly,  "I  haven't  a  word  to  say. 
I've  been  in  bed  most  of  the  day;  but  even  if  I  were 
well,  I  think  I  should  be  at  a  loss  for  words." 

They  looked  at  each  other. 

"P'raps  we  can  talk  it  out  later?"  Stimson  sug 
gested. 

"P'raps  so,"  said  Jed. 

They  aro.se,  one  after  another — each  in  turn  shak 
ing  hands  with  Ruden,  and  trying  to  smile  as  they  ex 
pressed  in  a,  maudlin  manner  their  sympathy  for  his 
physical  condition. 

"Gentlemen —  "  said  Ruden,  as  they  neared  the  door 
through  the  hall,  "may  I  remind  you  that  none  of  you 
have  mentioned  the  name  of  God  to-night,  nor  has  any 
one  suggested  that  the  situation  might  be  helped  by 
prayer. " 

"That's  so!"  said  Jed,  who  was  the  ever-ready 
spokesman  of  the  nonplussed  delegation. 

They  filed  back  into  the  parlor,  knelt  on  their  knees 


STEWARDS  OF  THE  MYSTERIES  17 

and  besought  God  for  the  health  of  the  "beloved  pas 
tor." 

' ' My  God ! ' '  exclaimed  Madeline,  as  the  door  closed. 
"What  a  stupid  lot!" 

"My  dear,"  said  Euden,  "be  careful!  They  are 
the  stewards  of  the  Church  of  Christ ! ' ' 

"Poor  Christ!"  she  said  indignantly.  "How 
weary  he  must  feel ! ' ' 

The  minister  dragged  himself  to  his  couch.  His 
wife  made  a  cup  of  tea  and  set  it  beside  him.  They 
were  both  silent  for  a  long  time.  Mrs.  Iludcn  was  dis 
tressed  with  conflicting  emotions.  She  saw  herself  ob 
jectified  in  the  complaint  of  the  church  board.  They 
were  a  mirror  in  which  she  saw  herself,  and  the  pic 
ture  annoyed  her. 

"Do  you  know,  Stephen,  I  had  to  hold  my  chair 
tightly  to  keep  from  breaking  in  on  that  committee. 
I  was  wild  with  rage!" 

"My  dear,  if  you  see  my  point  of  view,  I  am  satis 
fied." 

"Oh— I  do,  and  I  don't.  At  times  I  feel  you  are 
right, — and  again,  I  feel  as  if  I  simply  cannot  stand 
you  any  longer.  I  don't  know  what  to  do  or  think. 
If  I  was  only  sure  of  your  past — your  childhood,  boy 
hood  and  all,  I  would  be  more  at  rest.  It's  all  a  mys 
tery  to  me." 

"It  is  to  me,  also,  a.s  I  have  told  you  a  hundred 
times;  but,  Madeline,  you  have  known  me  twelve  years 
—these  years  have  not  been  years  of  mystery!" 

"Yes — I  think  they  have.  You  have  mysteries  of 
mind  that  I  cannot  fathom.  You  have  a  kinship  with 
the  underworld  that  sickens  and  discourages  me!" 

"'  There  is  some  mystery  in  it  I  cannot  fathom  my 
self — I  don't  understand  it.  At  times  I  feel  as  if,  in 


18  THE  MAGYAR 

order  to  satisfy  you,  I  must  sacrifice  everything  in  life 
to  the  discovery  of  my  father  or  the  record  of  my  birth 
and  parentage;  but,  Madeline,  this  anchor  holds  me  as 
an  anchor  holds  a  ship  in  a  storm ! ' '  He  led  her  to  the 
crib  side  of  their  golden-haired  boy.  He  bent  down, 
pushed  back  the  curls,  and  kissed  the  little  brow.  "lie 
holds  me  to  irksome  duty ;  he  binds  me  to  you  and  daily 
fastens  me  as  if  by  ropes  of  steel  to  God  and  the  cause 
of  the  poor." 

There  were  tears  as  woll  as  wonder  in  her  eyes  when 
the  minister  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  good 
night. 


CHAPTER    III 

A    DANGEROUS    NEOPHYTE 

"ETHEL    is    coming    to-night,    Stephen,"    Mrs.    Ruden 
said  next  morning;  "what  shall  I  get  for  dinner?" 

"I  don't  know,  dear,  and  I'm  sure  Ethel  doesn't 
care." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

""Well,  we've  known  her  for  five  years.  She's  the 
most  cultured  young  woman  in  the  parish,  and  culture 
includes  good  sense." 

Ethel  Ainsworth  was  the  only  daughter  of  the  rich 
est  man  in  the  parish.  She  was  a  "Wellesley  graduate 
and  had  just  closed  her  second  year  in  a  New  York 
Law  School.  She  was  twenty-five  and  accounted  very 
handsome.  She  was  interested  in  social  questions,  and 
had  spent  a  summer  vacation  in  the  Chicago  stockyards 
investigating  the  manner  in  which  her  father  made 
his  money,  as  he  was  a  large  stockholder  in  the  biggest 
packing  concern  in  the  country. 

Mrs.  Ruden  had  inherited  a  New  England  kitchen- 
mindcdness  from  her  mother,  so  spent  the  entire  day 
getting  ready  for  the  evening  meal.  When  Miss  Ains 
worth  arrived  at  five,  mistress  and  maid  were  about  ex 
hausted.  The  children  were  dressed  with  painful 
rigidity  and  neatness.  They  considered  themselves  in 
pound  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

"For  pity's  sake,  get  dressed,  Stephen,"  Mrs.  Ru 
den  said,  as  she  passed  him  in  the  hall.  "Dinner  will 
be  ready  in  a  few  minutes." 

19 


20  THE  MAGYAR 

"I  am  dressed,  dear,"  he  said. 

"You  haven't  changed  your  collar!" 

"Madeline,  have  you  noticed  how  Ethel  is  dressed?" 

"Yes,  what  of  it?" 

"Well,  its  artistic  and  sensible." 

"She  doesn't  have  to  slave  along  on  two  thousand 
a  year  with  three  children  at  her  heels  from  morning 
till  night." 

"But  even  if  you  had  thirty  of  them  dragging  at 
your  heels,  you  might  arrange  your  dress  with  less 
stiffness  and  formality.  I  speak,  my  dear,  for  your 
own  comfort — not  mine." 

"You  told  me  to  make  myself  at  home,"  Ethel  said, 
as  the  Rudcns  came  down,  "so  I  have  been  helping 
Nora  for  half  an  hour." 

"The  idea,  Ethel!" 

"Isn't  it  a  good  one?" 

' '  For  you  to  think  of  it,  yes ;  hut  for  Nora  to  allow 
you,  no!" 

"My  dear,"  said  Ethel,  "we  do  the  same  thing  our 
selves.  Mother  fusses  and  fumes  for  ten  straight  hours 
every  time  Mr.  Ruden  comes  to  tea !  I  used  to  hate 
the  sight  of  a  preacher,  but  I  have  more  important 
things  to  talk  over  to-night.  You've  had  a  visit  from 
the  official  board,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes — "  said  Ruden,  "I  wondered  what  you  would 
think  of  it." 

«AV ell— we'll  talk  it  over  later." 

Miss  Ainsworth  helped  the  children  through  the  or 
deal  by  telling  the  story  of  Siegfried.  After  dinner, 
she  played  selections  from  Grieg  and  Chopin  on  the 
piano,  concluding  with  the  singing  of  "My  Rosary." 

"Let  us  go  up  to  the  study,"  Stephen  suggested. 

"I  have  a  few  things  to  attend  to,  Ethel.     You  go 


A  DANGEROUS  NEOPHYTE  21 

to  the  study  with  Stephen,  and  I  will  join  you  in  a 
few  minutes." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked  the  minis 
ter  as  soon  as  they  were  seated. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Oh — perhaps  I've  begun  at  the  wrong  end." 

' '  If  you  have  important  news,  wait  a  few  minutes 
until  Madeline  comes." 

"There  are  a  few  things  I  want  to  say  before  she 
comes!"  Ethel  said  in  a  way  that  startled  the  preacher. 

"Go  ahead,  then!"  he  said. 

"Three  years  ago  you  awakened  my  dead  soul — 
that  only  happens  once  in  a  lifetime.  Since  that  day 
I  have  been  as  devoted  to  you  and  your  interests  as 
('hire  was  to  Francis.  All  of  that  is  a  preface  to  this: 
I  know  the  battle  you  are  fighting — it  is  in  the  city,  in 
the  church  and  in  your  home.  I  know  it  all — every 
detail.  In  a  year,  somehow,  somewhere — I  will  take 
my  stand  by  your  side.  The  vision  is  one,  the  fight  the 
same — 

"My  dear,"  said  Stephen,  as  his  wife  entered,  "I 
have  stemmed  the  tide  of  Ethel's  gossip  until  you  ar 
rived." 

"Good;  now,  dear  girl,  lift  up  the  flood-gates." 

"I  wonder  if  either  of  you  people  really  know  what 
is  going  on  in  the  parish?  I  don't  think  you  do.  As 
you  know,  the  committee  was  merely  the  mouth  of  the 
interests.  Money  doesn't  need  a  mouth — it's  cheaper 
and  saves  trouble  to  hire  one.  My  old  Dad  has  been 
in  a  storm  ever  since  the  public  hearing.  Other  men 
of  the  front-pew  kind  have  been  at  our  house.  They 
have  discussed  pro  and  con;  then  the  poor  dupes  who 
hold  office  were  told  to  act — and  they  came  here  like 
poodle  dogs. 


22  THE  MAGYAR 

"Mr.  linden,  they  have  decided  that  you  are  a  So 
cialist,  and  A\raddell  is  the  tool  to  be  used  to  oust  you 
and  to  rob  you  of  four  hundred  dollars  of  your  salary ; 
and,  as  they  know  that  church  membership  will  sup 
port  you,  they  fear  a  meeting  or  a  vote — so  it's  a  case 
of  starving  you  out.  It's  cut  and  dried,  so  don't  delay! 
Read  your  resignation  next  Sunday,  and  give  the 
church  a  chance  to  act  on  it  before  the  interests  can 
make  a  move  that  will  embarrass  you!" 

"But,  my  dear  girl,"  said  the  minister's  wife,  "why 
do  you  so  violently  oppose  your  father  in  this  matter?" 

Ethel  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  astonishment. 

''There's  a  passage  in  the  Bible  somewhere,"  she 
said,  "which  speaks  of  a  time  when  those  who  have 
wives  shall  be  as  though  they  had  none — Mr.  Ruden 
can  quote  it  correctly — but  it  may  be  that  the  same  is 
true  of  daughters  and  fathers.  If  a  burglar  was  on 
the  way  to  rifle  your  house  of  its  contents  and  I  gave 
you  warning,  would  you  ask  me  why  I  betrayed  the 
burglar?" 

"I  was  thinking,  dear,  of  what  it  must  cost  you  to  be 
true  to  your  conscience  ! ' ' 

"It  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  you  fully  grasp  the 
situation,  Mrs.  Ruden,"  Ethel  went  on.  "Here,  for 
five  years  your  husband  has  taught  and  led  his  people. 
There  never  was  a  whisper  of  complaint.  lie  could 
stand  there  in  the  pulpit  and  smash  their  faith  in  God 
—in  a  life  beyond.  He  could  do  what  thousands  have 
been  burned  at  the  stake  for,  and  they  would  still  love 
him ;  but  the  moment  he  touches  the  economic  question, 
his  work  is  done — it  is  done  noAV ! 

' '  This  man,  AYaddell,  for  whom  your  husband  has 
done  so  much,  explained  to  my  father  the  other  night 
how  he  had  led  your  husband  into  a  trap.  He  laughed 


A  DANGEROUS  NEOPHYTE  23 

as  he  told  it.  He  told  how  he  came  to  the  pastor  and 
explained  to  him  that  the  society  could  only  raise  six 
teen  hundred,  but  that  the  church  would  raise  the  bal 
ance.  'He  bit!'  cried  this  Fairport  Iseariot,  and  what 
you  call  the  'best  people'  are  saying — 'Well,  then. 
legally  he  can't  collect  the  four  hundred,  can  he?'  lie 
even  suggested  to  father  what  could  be  done  with  the 
money  that  ought  to  clothe  your  children.  It's  to 
paint  and  repair  the  parsonage  for  your  husband's 
successor!" 

Madeline  stretched  herself  on  the  couch  and  sighed. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "I'm  so  sick  of  it  all — gossip, 
intrigue  and  double-dealing  everywhere ;  and  in  the 
church  they  assume  their  vilest  shapes!" 

"My  dear,"  said  Stephen,  "we  might  better  adjust 
ourselves  to  such  things  if  we  were  ready  to  recognize 
their  existence." 

"Well,  if  you  will  bear  children  and  look  after  them, 
1 11  recognize  and  adjust  myself  to  conditions  around 
me.  I'll  have  time  then,"  she  replied. 

"Adjustment  to  the  gods  is  the  first  essential,  it  seems 
to  me,"  said  Ethel.  "In  teaching  me  that,  Mr.  Ruden 
gave  to  my  butterfly  life  an  incentive — an  outlook; 
and  the  first  thing  my  opened  eyes  observed  was  the 
intellectual  paralysis  of  this  community.  I  saw  the 
women  around  me  toying  with  clothes  and  jewelry,  and 
sweating  half  their  entire  lives  over  what  they  should 
eat  and  wear.  It  was  so  vulgar;  so  animal  like.  In 
the  brutal  language  of  the  vulgar  rich — 'money  talks' 
in  our  suburb." 

"Ethel,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Ruden  said,  sitting  erect, 
"talk  is  easy  and  cheap.  We  are  now  practically  out 
of  an  appointment,  and  we  haven't  a  dollar  in  the 
world.  We  have  to  eat  and  we  have  to  feed  and  clothe 


24  THE  MAGYAR 

our  children;  if  we  could  cash  our  virtues  or  draw  on 
a  rich  father,  we  could  afford  to  take  it  as  easy  as  you 
do!" 

"Look  here,  Madeline,"  Ethel  said  with  flashing 
eyes,  "last  summer  I  spent  July  and  August  in  the 
stockyards  of  Chicago  among  the  people  who  made  my 
father  rich  and  are  making  him  richer,  and  from  the 
day  I  left  that  inferno,  I  have  not  used  a  dollar  of  his 
money — not  a  dollar.  In  this  I  have  scorned  the  advice 
of  your  husband — he  told  me  I  had  a  duty  to  my  father; 
I  told  him  I  had  a  larger  duty  to  my  own  soul.  My 
brothers  objected  to  my  friends  because  they  wrere  poor 
— solely  because  they  were  poor  and  couldn't  wear 
the  same  kind  of  clothes;  but  I  am  a  person,  a  human 
soul.  I  have  a  life  to  live — I  must  live  it  alone  before 
God  and  my  own  conscience.  By  these  eternal  stand 
ards,  I  stand  or  fall!" 

"You  ought  to  be  ordained,  my  dear, — " 

"And  married,  too,  you  will  say  when  I  tell  you  what 
I  have  in  my  soul  about  another  matter.  Mrs.  Ru- 
dcn,  you  talk  about  bearing  children  as  if  you  were  an 
old  hen  laying  eggs!" 

Madeline  stood  erect  for  an  instant,  twitching  nerv 
ously.  She  had  something  cutting  to  say,  but  hesi 
tated.  What  she  did  say  was  a  modification  of  the 
thought. 

"Sit  down,  please,  dear,  and  let  us  talk  this  out 
quietly,"  Stephen  said  soothingly. 

"I  will  not  be  insulted  without  at  least  a  protest!" 

Ethel  arose  now,  and  they  stared  at  each  other  for 
an  instant.  "I  am  but  a  girl  compared  to  you,  Made 
line,— but  I  have  the  mind  of  a  woman.  If  you  were 
as  careful  about  insulting  others  as  you  are  about  be 
ing  insulted,  you  would  whine  and  grunt  less  to  your 


A  DANGEROUS  NEOPHYTE  25 

husband  about  the  terrible  burden  of  bearing  children! 
You  would  think  twice  before  insulting  your  children 
by  constantly  regretting  their  existence." 

"You  seem  deeply  interested  in  my  husband!" 

"I  am— but  not  as  a  husband.  I  am  interested  in 
him  because  he  is  following  in  the  bloody  footprints  of 
the  Christ  without  even  a  Bethany  home  where  he  might 
get  his  feet  washed  with  love.  He  is  alone,  and  as  he 
is  my  father  in  God,  I  demand  the  right  to  comfort  and 
encourage  him!" 

Madeline  raised  her  voice — "Sometimes  these  'fath 
ers  in  God'  become  husbands  in  the  devil!" 

"For  God's  sake  change  the  drift  of  this  conversa 
tion,"  Stephen  said.  "Nothing  can  be  gained  by  per 
sonalities." 

Without  taking  her  eyes  off  Madeline,  and  as  if  she 
had  not  heard  the  minister  speak,  Ethel  Ainsworth 
said: 

"If  that  becomes  true  in  this  case,  it  will  be  because 
you  were  false  to  your  marriage  vows,  false  to  the 
ideals  of  your  husband,  false  to  God,  and  a  panderer 
to  the  vulgar  tastes  of  the  characterless  people  of  the 
community ! ' ' 

Madeline  arose  and  hastily  left  the  study.  The  min 
ister  and  his  guest  arose  simultaneously  and  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes.  What  they  saw,  eternity  only  can 
reveal — but  each  saw  something  they  had  never  seen 
before. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  but  he  could  get  no  further. 

"You  are  not!"  Miss  Ainsworth  said.  "You  are 
glad — you  know  you  are;  don't  be  a  coward!" 

;'Then  I  am  glad  you  expressed  yourself  and  that  it 
is  over!" 

"It  is  not  over.     Such  things  are  over  when  life  is 


26  THE  MAGYAR 

over.  Shake  the  dust  of  the  community  from  your  feet. 
If  there  is  a  God,  He  will  support  you.  If  there  be  any 
virtue  left,  it  will  rally  to  your  aid;  but  whatever  you 
do,  don't  let  any  man  nor  woman  nor  circumstance  blur 
that  vision.  The  vision  you  have  shown  me  must  not 
fail  you  in  your  hour  of  need!"  Before  he  could  speak, 
she  was  gone — and  the  front  door  had  just  closed  when 
Madeline  entered.  She  was  pale  and  excited. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  unreasonable,  Stephen — I  have 
only  myself  to  blame.  I  told  Ethel's  mother  in  confi 
dence  some  of  the  things  she  hurled  at  me  to-night! 
I  feel  the  ground  slip  from  under  my  feet — I  feel  every 
thing  moving  away  from  me.  I  am  losing  you— no, 
not  your  body,  but  your  soul  of  fire  that  swept  me  off 
my  feet  years  ago!  Help  me — help  me!  Oh,  Stephen, 
for  Christ's  sake  help  me!" 

She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  wept.  He 
laid  her  gently  on  the  lounge,  and  said : 

"Sweetheart,  we  take  ourselves  and  the  world  too 
seriously !  Let  us  try  to  live  simply  for  a  big  principle 
for  a  while;  if  we  don't  succeed,  we'll  try  something 
else." 

"It  is  you,  Stephen — you  take  yourself  too  seri 
ously!" 

"AY ell,  then,  let's  try  again  to  get  some  fun  out  of 
life  as  well  as  service.  Let  us  try  to  live  as  well  as  get 
a  living!" 

AYhen  he  kissed  her  good-night,  there  was  an  under 
standing — or  an  understanding  and  a  half. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE   MENACE   OF    IDEALISM 

THE  departure  of  the  minister  from  the  Fairport 
Church  almost  immediately  after  the  annual  meeting 
\vas  accompanied  by  a  series  of  protest  meetings  of  a 
more  or  less  violent  nature.  The  working  men  intro 
duced  to  the  church  membership  by  the  pastor  were 
incensed  but  powerless.  They  had  a  voice  in  matters 
oF  a  religious  nature  but  were  voteless  on  questions  of 
management.  The  saints  talked ;  the  sinners  attended 
to  the  business.  The  going  or  coming  of  ministers  is 
a  matter  of  business  and  church  members  as  such  have 
no  voice  in  such  things. 

Mr.  Ruden  moved  his  family  to  a  small  farm  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  city.  It  was  an  abandoned  farm  with 
a  former  orchard.  There  were  sixteen  acres,  but  about 
fourteen  of  them  were  stones.  Arriving  about  the  mid 
dle  of  June  and  having  neither  tools  nor  capital,  the 
cry  "back  to  the  land"  meant  very  little  to  him.  A 
discredited  minister  is  dead  wood  on  a  lecture  list,  and 
most  of  his  engagements  were  cancelled.  While  he  was 
enjoying  the  fruit  of  respectability  in  Fairport,  the 
Colonial  Union,  a  debating  society  of  the  University, 
had  scheduled  him  for  a  lecture  on  "The  Changing 
Social  Order,"  but  as  the  time  drew  nigh  to  deliver  it, 
there  was  considerable  dissatisfaction  among  the  patri 
otic  students.  Being  accuse^  of  being  a  Socialist,  he 
gave  diligent  study  to  the  matter  and  the  thing  he 

27 


28 

feared  came  upon  him.  The  thing  gripped  and  held 
him. 

"Who  got  this  fellow  to  lecture?"  asked  an  indig 
nant  student  on  the  campus  on  the  afternoon  preced 
ing  the  lecture. 

"Stirling  got  him,"  said  a  bystander. 

"Does  Stirling  know  he's  an  anarchist?" 

"By  Jove,"  said  young  Oglethorpe,  "if  he's  an 
anarchist  or  Socialist  we  ought  to  give  him  a  warm  re 
ception!" 

"Let's  hunt  him  up,"  said  Sleesberger,  one  of  the 
bystanders. 

"Who?" 

"Stirling!" 

Off  to  Old  South  Middle  went  four  youths  who  had 
suddenly  made  themselves  guardians  of  "the  univer 
sity's  good  name." 

"What  are  you  fussing  about?"  Stirling  asked,  as 
the  fellows  inquired  with  a  grouch  what  it  all  meant. 

"Look  here,  Oglethorpe — what  do  you  know  about 
this  preacher?" 

"Everybody  knows  he's  a  Socialist  or  an  anarchist, 
don't  they?"  answered  the  Southern  youth. 

"One  at  a  time,"  said  Stirling,  as  three  of  them 
spoke  at  once. 

"You  first,  'Ogle,'  what  is  a  Socialist — do  you  know?" 

"Any  fool  knows!" 

"Then  tell  me!" 

"Get  a  dictionary,"  suggested  Ryan. 

"No,  let  the  dictionary  alone  until  we  get  through." 

"Well,"  said  Oglethorpe,  "a  Socialist  is  a  man  who 
wants  to  divide  up  the  world's  property." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Be  damned!  no,  it  isn't.     They  all  believe  in  free 


29 

love  and  all  sorts  of  fool  vagaries.  "We'll  have  a  mass 
meeting  to  protest  to-night  as  sure  as  hell!" 

"I'm  not  a  Socialist,"  said  Stirling,  when  the  boys 
had  sufficiently  demonstrated  their  ignorance;  "but 
when  a  man  writes  a  book  that  gives  him  a  place  in 
literature,  or  stands  for  a  big  principle,  I  want  to  find 
out  why  he  is  a  Socialist.  I  think  it's  an  opportunity." 

The  five  of  them  stood  on  the  steps  for  a  minute 
and  looked  at  each  other. 

"Say,  'Ogle, ':'  said  Stirling,  as  he  led  him  aside, 
"wouldn't  it  be  a  joke  on  you  if  the  specialist  who  is 
treating  you  is  a  Socialist  and  at  the  meeting  to 
night?" 

"What  the  h— 1  has  that  to  do  with  it?" 

"It  is  a  commentary  on  your  hypocritical  fear  that 
Socialism  will  lead  to  free  love ! ' ' 

The  reference  to  the  "Dr."  incensed  Oglethorpe,  and 
he  managed  to  stir  up  a  number  of  like  minded  scions 
of  the  successful  to  open  revolt.  Half  a  dozen  mem 
bers  of  the  Faculty  caught  the  contagion  of  fear  and 
discussed  the  affair  together  informally,  but  decided 
to  take  no  actual  part  in  the  matter. 

There  was  a  stormy  meeting  of  the  executive  com 
mittee  of  the  Union,  and  a  wrangle  over  which  of  them 
should  preside.  Ruden's  best  friend — a  local  minister 
• — had  been  asked  to  perform  that  function,  but  it  was 
now  the  opinion  of  both  the  Faculty  and  their  Union 
that  he  should  be  eliminated.  Who  would  call  him  off? 
The  president  refused,  but  was  willing  to  preside  in  his 
stead.  Notice  of  a  mass  meeting  in  Alumni  Hall  had 
been  circulated,  and  Vanderlip,  a  freshman,  member 
of  the  executive  committee,  was  appointed  to  state  the 
ease  for  the  Colonial  Union. 

About   a   quarter   past  eight,   old  Alumni   Hall  was 


30  THE  MAGYAR 

well  filled  with  undergraduates — most  of  them  wonder 
ing  what  it  was  all  about.  Lew  Oglethorpe  of  Alabama 
walked  up  the  aisle,  wheeling  around  when  he  reached 
the  front  of  the  hall. 

"Fellows,"  he  said,  "this  is  not  only  a  patriotic 
meeting,  but  it  is  a  meeting  in  the  concern  of  the  honor 
of  old  Colonial.  The  Colonial  Union — composed  of 
freshmen  who  have  not  been  long  enough  here  to  under 
stand — have  invited  a  prominent  Socialist  or  anarchist 
here  to  deliver  a  lecture,  and  we  are  here  to  protest 
against  having  any  such  person  address  us.  I  can't 
make  a  speech,  but  I  love  my  country  and  don't  want 
one  of  its  worst  enemies  to  have  any  honors  showered 
on  him  here." 

"Oh,  you  'Ogle!'"  someone  shouted. 

"Ogle"  smiled  and  sat  down.  There  was  a  pause. 
Oglethorpe  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  said: 

"I  regret  this  incident  because  the  reverend  gentle 
man  is  a  friend  of  my  family." 

It  was  Vanderlip  's  turn : 

"The  Colonial  Union  is  composed  of  Freshmen,  it  is 
true;  but  we  are  not  to  assume  from  that  that  all  the 
virtues  and  patriotism  of  Colonial  resides  in  the  Sopho 
more  class.  It  was  like  this:  Mr.  Ruden  was  asked 
to  lecture  under  our  auspices  some  months  ago, — now 
it  just  happens  that  since  we  secured  him  he  has  become 
a  Socialist.  I  don't  know  what  a  Socialist  is,  but  I 
would  like  to  know.  Some  of  these  wise  Sophomores 
are  chasing  rainbows.  The  great  American  Republic 
and  old  Colonial  will  survive  this  shock  we  feel  sure ! ' ' 

Sleesberger  came  next.  Patriotism  was  boiling  in 
him.  He  grew  enthusiastic  and  thumped  the  back  of 
a  chair  as  if  it  were  a  punching  bag. 

"I   don't  care  what  a  man's   title   is!"   he  roared. 


THE  MENACE  OF  IDEALISM  31 

"It's  the  man  that  counts.  These  foreigners  come  here 
and  after  they've  got  a  good  living,  they  want  what 
other  men  have  sweat  for" — a  whack  at  the  chair 
created  a  cheer,  and  four  men  standing  by  the  door 
yelled,  "Slees — Slees — Slees!  Oh,  you  Sleesberger !" 

The  fact  that  Sleesberger  was  the  son  of  a  rich  packer 
who  himself  had  come  as  a  poverty  stricken  emigrant 
from  Southern  Europe  was  well  known.  This,  with  the 
knowledge  the  students  had  of  his  profligate  life,  dis 
pelled  whatever  seriousness  there  was,  and  the  student 
body  was  on  the  edge  of  a  ludicrous  dispersion  when  one 
of  the  assistant  professors  took  a  hand  in  the  debate. 
He  counseled  patience ;  said  the  engagement  was  made 
and  couldn't  be  called  off,  but  that  it  should  be  a  lesson 
to  those  in  this  case  involved.  "A  lecture  here  on  So 
cialism  or  anarchy  is  a  virtual  indorsement ;  if  not  of 
the  ism,  then  of  the  ist — the  man  who  delivers  the  lec 
ture. "  This  gave  the  meeting  a  serious  vein,  and  half 
a  dozen  young  patriots  expressed  their  fears  for  the 
country  and  the  "integrity  of  the  American  home." 

"To  use  a  parliamentary  phrase,"  said  a  pale-faced 
youth,  "  'there  is  nothing  before  the  house' — no  defi 
nite  proposition.  Most  of  those  who  have  spoken  have 
unloaded  the  prejudices  of  environment.  I  am  of  those 
who  speak  in  public  for  the  first  time — I  ask  for  the 
same  patience  accorded  others  in  the  discussion."  lie 
was  in  the  front  seat,  and  as  he  began  to  speak,  he  faced 
the  audience.  The  hall  was  filled  at  that  time  to  over 
flowing. 

"Louder!     Louder!"  shouted  several  near  the  door. 

"That's  'Skinny  the  grind,'"  somebody  said  half 
aloud.  The  speaker  raised  his  voice. 

"A  few  months  ago  the  papers  of  New  Oxford  told 
the  story  of  a  man  who  went  insane  in  one  of  our  big 


32  THE  MAGYAR 

slaughter  houses.  He  was  what  is  called  a  'header.' 
For  ten  years  he  cut  off  the  heads  of  a  thousand  hogs 
an  hour.  That  was  the  work  of  a  muscular  arm,  light 
ning  rapidity,  and  a  clean  blade.  Multiply  that  num 
ber  by  the  hours  he  worked,  and  you  have  ten  thousand 
a  day.  He  came  home  to  eat — gulp  down  a  meal — 
take  off  his  bloody  shirt  that  stuck  to  his  skin,  and, 
like  a  beast,  lie  down  to  sleep.  He  lost  few  days  in 
ten  years.  If  he  became  ill,  the  firm  put  two  men  in  to 
take  his  place  and  docked  him  for  every  hour.  If  a 
few  minutes  late,  he  was  docked  an  hour.  If  he  cut 
his  finger,  he  was  docked  for  the  time  it  took  to  bind 
it  up.  His  family  grew  and  his  wages  fell.  He  felt 
himself  in  the  iron  clutch  of  circumstances  similar  to 
those  that  smashed  his  family  life  when  he  was  a  child 
— sending  parents  in  one  direction  and  helpless  chil 
dren  in  another.  The  cord  snapped  one  day,  and  he 
went  mad !  He  ripped  his  keen  blade  through  five  men 
in  about  as  many  minutes.  He  was  adjudged  insane 
and  taken  away  to  a  madhouse — and  the  company  paid 
his  wife  for  as  much  of  that  bloody  day  as  he  decapi 
tated  hogs, — and  no  more.  The  papers  gave  no  details. 
They  could  not  tell  what  I  am  telling,  because  the  busi 
ness,  the  churches  and  the  press  are  owned  by  the  same 
people. 

"I  am  that  man's  son.  You  wonder  why  I  am  hero 
in  Colonial.  I  will  tell  you:  because  the  daughter  of 
a  big  stockholder  in  the  slaughter  business  of  which 
the  abattoir  on  Long  AMiarf  is  a  branch,  went  to  Chi 
cago  a  few  years  ago  to  investigate  how  her  father  made 
his  money,  and  she  found  thousands  of  slaves  like  my 
father  wallowing  all  their  lives  in  blood,  and  she  re 
fused  any  longer  to  live  on  the  blood  money;  so  she 
singled  out  our  family,  took  my  name,  and  against  it 


THE  MENACE  OF  IDEALISM  33 

in  the  Bursar's  office  put  that  money  to  educate  me. 
What  for?  To  help  remedy  these  conditions. 

"Gentlemen,  I  never  knew  what  that  woman  meant 
until  this  afternoon  when  I  heard  Sleesberger,  Ogle- 
tliorpe  and  Hancock  talk  of  the  purpose  of  this  meet 
ing.  These  young  men  are  concerned  about  American 
institutions,  about  religion  and  patriotism.  Some  of 
you  smile — I  feel  like  weeping.  I  tell  you  what  they 
are  concerned  about:  they  are  afraid  the  beasts  will 
arise  and  devour  them,  or  worse  still, — make  them  work 
for  a  living! 

"Young  men,  the  shirts  on  your  backs  were  bought 
by  the  red  blood  of  my  father  and  tens  of  thousands  of 
other  boys'  fathers.  And  we  are  tired  of  hunger  and 
exposure  and  rags,  that  you — you  three,  particularly, 
that  I  heard  talk  this  afternoon — that  you  should  revel 
in  lust  and  luxury  while  we  go  into  your  fathers' 
slaughter  houses  to  slaughter  and  be  slaughtered!  My 
mother  has  had  one  dress  in  ten  years.  She  paid  nine 
dollars  for  it.  About  once  a  year  the  New  Oxford 
papers  tell  in  detail  what  your  mothers  wear.  They 
describe  minutely  the  silks,  satins  and  jewelry ! 

"You  are  full-blooded,  strong  and  healthy!  All  my 
brothers  and  sisters  are  weak  and  physically  deficient. 
1  have  scarcely  enough  body  to  support  my  mind. 
You  sneer,  Hancock!  The  Insurance  Company  of 
which  your  father  is  president,  took  my  father's  money 
for  nine  years — his  policy  was  paid  up  until  the  last 
minute.  AYe  went  hungry  and  naked  to  pay  it;  but 
when  my  father  went  insane,  the  company  was  tech 
nically  relieved  of  responsibility.  Out  of  such  pen 
nies  of  the  poor,  your  father  built  his  yachts  and  sent 
you  here !  Sneer  again !  sneer  at  our  tears,  and  laugh 
at  our  groans! 


34  THE  MAGYAR 

"Strange,  isn't  it,  that  I  should  ever  have  gotten 
my  neck  out  of  the  yoke ;  but  I  have — and  as  I  stood 
listening  to  your  gush  this  afternoon,  my  life  of  misery 
and  the  misery  of  my  class  passed  in  review.  I  saw 
a  long  drawn  out  procession  of  white  slaves, — slaves 
with  stunted  bodies  and  twisted  limbs, — naked, 
dirty  and  ignorant !  I  heard  their  wail  of  despair,  and 
from  the  padded  cell  of  my  father  came  a  cry  that 
pierced  my  very  soul.  And  it  struck  me  that  Socialism 
must  mean  the  end  of  white  slavery  and  injustice;  and 
I  swore  by  the  sacred  name  of  Christ  that  I  would  fol 
low  Euden  and  use  the  education  I  get  here  to  accom 
plish  the  dream  of  the  ages,  or  give  my  life  in  the  at 
tempt!" 

During  the  last  few  words,  the  boy  gripped  the  back 
of  a  chair,  but  his  strength  was  gone  and  he  slid  down 
the  side  of  the  chair  to  the  floor.  The  meeting  dis 
solved  as  if  by  magic.  A  couple  of  students  carried 
him  to  the  campus,  where,  in  a  few  minutes,  he  regained 
consciousness. 


CHAPTER   V 
"AND  A  MAN'S  ENEMIES — 

Two  hours  before  the  lecture,  Stephen  Ruden  sat  in  his 
study  in  the  farm  house,  quieting  himself  after  a 
stormy  colloquy  with  his  wife.  His  elbows  were  on 
the  table  and  his  face  was  buried  in  his  hands.  The 
patter  of  little  feet  in  the  hall  aroused  him.  A  mo 
ment  later  the  children  pounced  upon  him  and  fought 
for  position  on  his  knees.  Sacha  climbed  on  his  back. 
They  were  dressed  for  bed  and  had  come  for  prayers 
and  a  good-night  story.  It  was  a  group  that  might 
have  charmed  the  heart  of  any  woman.  Stephen  Ru 
den  loved  his  children  with  an  unusual  love.  It  was 
in  their  innocent  lives  he  found  comfort  when  the  out 
side  world  frowned  upon  and  disowned  him.  The 
children's  hour  was  the  sunshine  of  his  life.  It  was 
his  encouragement — his  hope.  lie  never  had  been  in 
such  dire  need  of  human  aid  as  when  they  found  him 
in  a  deep  reverie  the  night  of  his  University  lecture. 

Mrs.  Ruden  followed  the  children  into  the  room. 
She  was  silent  and  sat  apart  by  the  window  while  the 
children  listened  with  rapt  attention  to  a  parable  of 
the  barnyard,  composed  more  for  the  ears  of  the  mother 
than  the  children.  It  was  a  picture  of  social  condi 
tions,  with  a  suggestion  of  a  way  out.  It  was  full  of 
the  most  subtle  satire  and  engaging  humor.  The  chil 
dren  laughed  at  the  antics  of  the  aristocratic  old  rooster 
who  introduced  the  wage  system  among  the  hens  and 

35 


36 

almost  wept  at  the  fate  of  the  young  cockerel  who 
came  to  the  rescue  of  the  chickens  who  starved  on  a 
worm  a  day.  At  his  knee  the  children  knelt  and  re 
peated  their  prayer.  Then  they  kissed  him  good-night 
and  were  led  away  by  their  mother. 

"Stephen,"  she  said,  when  she  joined  him  again, 
"I'm  sorry  I  lost  my  temper  when  I  spoke  to  you  after 
dinner.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  calmly  now  for  a  min 
ute  before  you  go  to  your  lecture." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I'll  listen  as  calmly  as  you  talk." 

"The  title  of  your  lecture,  'The  Coming  Crisis,'  gives 
you  all  the  latitude  you  need  to  show  the  people  of 
this  city  that  you  are  not  as  radical  as  you  are  sup 
posed  to  be." 

"But,  my  dear,  I  am  more  radical  than  anyone  sup 
poses  me  to  be." 

""Well,  I'll  put  it  in  another  way — you  decide  by 
your  lecture  to-night  whether  you  keep  or  reject  your 
wife  and  children — whether  you  remain  a  respectable 
member  of  society  or  become  a  nondescript  disturber  of 
the  peace.  I  can  stand  it  no  longer — I  must  know  be 
fore  you  go  out  just  what  you  intend  to  do." 

She  spoke  as  she  had  promised — calmly — but  with 
a  determination  he  had  never  seen  in  her  manner  be 
fore. 

"I  don't  think  it  a  choice  between  a  social  nonde 
script  and  the  gangrene  of  this  town's  respectability," 
he  said,  "but  if  it  were  I  would  rather  be  a  pariah  than 
a  Bourgeois  nonentity." 

"Pardon  me,"  she  said,  interrupting  him.  "We 
have  gone  over  this  often  enough — tell  me  now,  please, 
are  you  going  to  advocate  Socialism,  or  announce  your 
self  as  an  advocate — that's  a  simple  question — I  want 
you  to  answer  it!" 


"AND  A  MAN'S  ENEMIES—'  37 

"I  understand,"  he  said;  "then  I  answer  in  the  af 
firmative,  just  to  suit  your  convenience,  but  let  me  say 
to  you  that  I  shall  remain  the  father  and  guardian  of 
my  children — despite  you  or  society — or  the  powers 
of  hell  arrayed  against  me ! ' ' 

She  lay  down  on  the  study  lounge  and  sobbed.  He 
sat  silent.  Then  she  arose  and  said  in  faltering  tones, 
"I  will  try  not  to  hate  you,  but  you  have  spoiled  my 
life — ruined  it.  I  take  what  is  left  and  make  the  most 
of  it.  Good-bye!" 

She  went  out  of  the  room  quickly  and  he  could  hear 
her  sob  as  she  descended  the  stairs.  The  minister 
sighed  as  he  put  the  notes  of  his  lecture  in  his  pocket 
and  went  out  into  the  night  with  a  sadder  heart  than 
he  had  ever  known. 

Three  thousand  people  crowded  into  Davenport  Hall 
that  night  to  see  and  hear  the  man  who  had  given  the 
newspapers  so  much  to  do  in  an  otherwise  dull  season. 
His  friends  and  enemies  both  came. 

An  inane  youngster  introduced  him  with  the  usual 
platitudes.  The  customary  hand-clapping  reception 
was  omitted.  His  enemies  would  not,  and  his  friends, 
feeling  that  they  were  in  the  enemies'  camp,  could  not, 
— at  least  they  did  not  try. 

"Socialism  is  a  state  of  mind,"  was  his  opening  sen 
tence.  "Political  economists  have  approached  it  as  if 
it  were  the  framework  and  bones  of  a  Brontosaurus. 
Spiritual  things  are  spiritually  discerned — it  takes  a 
soul  to  see  a  soul,  and  therein  lies  the  secret  of  the  stu 
pidity  that  thinks  it  has  solved  the  problem  when  it 
asks  with  an  air  of  sanctity:  'AYhat  is  it?' 

"It  is  a  diagnosis  and  a  prescription.  Small-pox 
used  to  be  a  universal  scourge — a  world-wide  pestilence, 
but  science  has  almost  entirely  wiped  it  out. 


38  THE  MAGYAR 

"Tuberculosis  must  also  go,  for  science  is  after  it. 
Poverty  is  as  old  as  the  world,  and  its  very  age  is  given 
as  a  reason  why  it  should  perpetuate  itself.  Poverty 
is  not  merely  a  lack  of  material  essentials,  it  is  a  lack 
of  education,  refinement,  culture,  religion.  Socialism  is 
Science  in  a  crusade  against  poverty.  The  diagnosis  is 
made — there  is  little  difference  of  opinion  on  it.  The 
prescription  asks  for  a  more  equitable  distribution  of 
wealth — a  distribution  based  on  the  labor  employed  in 
wealth  production  and  social  service. 

"Socialism  is  neither  cataclysmal,  confiscatory  nor 
iconoclastic.  It  does  not  work  from  the  top  down,  but 
from  the  bottom  up.  It  does  not  dream  of  correcting 
evils  by  the  big  man — the  over-glutted,  who  becomes  a 
philanthropist  by  stolen  goods.  It  simply  prevents  his 
species.  It  will  offset  the  plutocratic  gangrene  by  the 
inoculation  of  a  healthy  democratic  virus.  To  begin 
at  the  top  is  revolution.  To  work  from  the  bottom 
is  evolution.  History  furnishes  some  gruesome  and 
bloody  examples  of  revolution.  They  have  been  explo 
sions,  and  sometimes  have  cleared  the  air,  but  they 
have  left  the  working  class  worse  than  they  found  them. 
There  may  be  more  explosions  but  it  is  the  mission  of 
Socialism  to  point  out  their  futility.  The  future  state 
will  be  built,  not  on  the  mistakes  or  even  the  injustices 
of  the  past,  but  on  what  the  collective  wisdom  has  dem 
onstrated  to  be  practical  and  permanent. 

"The  spirit  of  Socialism  is  at  work.  AVhat  it  has  ac 
complished  will  not  be  repudiated — the  steps  taken  will 
not  be  retraced,  for  while  its  passion  and  mission  is  for 
the  uplift  of  the  toilers  its  work  includes  the  abolition 
of  classes.  It  is  class  conscious  because  only  in  that 
way  can  class  hatred  be  abolished. 


39 

' '  '  How  are  we  to  do  it  ?'  I  hear  you  ask.  By  attend 
ing  to  first  things  first. 

''The  condition  of  the  unemployed — the  stunting  of 
the  bodies  of  little  children — better  housing — housing 
by  the  State  and  the  City. 

"We  have  socialized  the  mail  business — the  public 
schools — the  fire  department — parks — streets — high 
ways — libraries — we  teach  trades  to  city  boys — and 
farming  to  farmers.  "We  are  now  preserving  the  coal 
in  Alaska  and  the  public  lands  and  forests  for  public 
use.  This  is  Socialism  at  work  and  our  program  is 
simply  this  spirit  emphasized  and  pushed  as  far  as  the 
public  mind  is  prepared  to  push  it." 

"What  about  dividing  up?"  yelled  a  student. 

"Dividing  up  what?"  asked  Ruden. 

"The  wealth,"  was  the  answer. 

Then,  with  a  roar,  a  thousand  of  them  gave  the  col 
lege  yell. 

"I  never  heard  of  that,"  he  said,  when  they  sub 
sided.  ""We  do  believe,  however,  in  dividing  up  the 
opportunity  on  a  more  equitable  basis." 

"Who  is  going  to  dictate  what  work  men  will  do?" 
was  the  next  interruption. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  reply — "that's  a  question 
for  the  future." 

"You  Socialists  are  always  talking  about  the  future 
—  and  when  we  ask  you  anything  about  it  you  say  you 
don't  know." 

"Well,  that's  the  position  of  the  church!  She  deals 
entirely  in  futures  and  when  we  ask  for  details,  she 
says  'have  faith' — what  can  we  do  more?  We  observe 
a  tendency — it  is  in  the  direction  of  the  social  owner 
ship  of  the  means  of  production  and  distribution — 


40  THE  MAGYAR 

just  what  shape  it  will  take,  our  great-grandchildren 
will  be  able  to  tell." 

"What  about  free  love  and  the  break  up  of  the 
family?" 

"Free  love  is  the  exclusive  privilege  of  the  rich. 
They  have  time  and  opportunity,  and  avail  themselves 
of  both.  The  working  class  doesn't  trouble  the  divorce 
court  much — it  hasn't  time.  The  newspapers  give  the 
record— read  them  and  find  out  who  is  breaking  up 
the  family  by  its  treatment  of  the  working  men — but 
if  you  mean  the  old  patriarchal  family — I  say  yes — 
we  hope  to  abolish  that,  for  that  was  property  in 
women  and  children.  The  male  owned  the  female  and 
her  offspring.  The  State  is  the  over-parent  and  women 
bearing  children  within  the  limitations  of  the  social 
compact  will  be  taken  care  of  by  the  State,  like  any 
other  social  servant.  But,  young  gentlemen,  permit 
me  to  point  out  that  the  moment  we  Socialists  speak 
of  righting  world  wrongs  the  archaic  mind  wants  a 
forecast  of  the  future.  It  wants  a  scheme  like  a  clock 
wound  up  to  go  a  millenium.  It  dodges  the  issue  of 
the  present  degrading  system  of  multi-millionaires  and 
paupers — of  injustice,  theft,  exploitation — it  jumps 
these  and  asks  what  it  will  do  a  thousand  years  hence. 
We  don't  know — but  we  ask  you  college  men  to  help 
us  lift  the  dead  level — to  purge  parties  of  graft  and 
self-seeking.  You  think  clearly  enough,  but  you  are 
not  alive!  Take,  for  instance,  your  chief  activity 
here,  in  Colonial.  It's  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  You  have  a 
mission  where  you  take  your  old  worn  out  junk — you 
teach  the  old  roustabouts  a  theology — nothing  comes  of 
your  activity — and  worse  still,  nothing  is  expected,  for 
your  leaders  say  plainly  and  brutally  that  the  chief 
thing  is  your  practice  in  talking  theology  to  the  hobos. 


"AND  A  MAX'S  ENEMIES—  41 

All  you  have  to  offer  for  social  injustice  is  the  plati 
tudes  of  a  medieval  theology.  You  don't  even  take  that 
seriously. 

"Pardon  me,  if  I  seem  inconsiderate,  but  let  me  give 
you  an  illustration  of  the  value  of  a  college  training. 

"When  you  men  get  your  bachelor  degrees,  and  you 
sit  a  hundred  of  you  around  a  table — say,  in  the  AV;il- 
dorf- Astoria — the  table  is  covered  with  cut  glass — with 
beautifully  fashioned  silverware,  the  iinest  pottery, 
most  expensive  linen.  Beneath  your  feet,  Turkish 
carpets  and  Persian  rugs.  Around  you  hang  paintings 
of  the  masters  and  decorations  by  art  craftsmen, — here 
you  are  in  the  midst  of  an  aesthetic  heaven,  an  earthly 
paradise,  and  not  a  man  among  you  could  even  help 
to  make  a  thing  he  sees  or  uses.  Yet  you  are  called 
Bachelors  of  Art !  If  a  dozen  of  you  were  wrecked  in 
inid-ocean  you  couldn't  build  a  pontoon  to  save  your 
lives!  You  know  a  little  poetry,  a  little  literature,  a 
smattering  of  foreign  and  dead  languages,  but  the  trend 
of  your  so-called  education  has  been  away  from  work — 
indeed  you  come  here  to  be  fitted  to  escape  it!" 

The  speaker  paused  for  a  moment  and  the  students 
growled  like  a  pack  of  hungry  animals.  There  were 
cat-calls  and  another  college  yell. 

Ruden  stood  smiling.  AYhen  they  subsided  again, 
he  said:  "AVhat  have  you  done  with  the  founder 
of  your  religion?  He  was  a  carpenter!"  lie 
paused  a  moment.  "I  am  not  a  preacher — I  hate 
preaching  or  being  preached  at — but,  young  men,  life 
calls  so  loudly  to  us — Our  country  and  the  world  needs 
men — Men  who  will  not  gauge  life  by  what  they  can 
get  out  of  it,  but  by  what  they  can  add  to  the  total  sum 
of  its  progress !" 

The  thrill  that  went  through  the  crowd  was  a  result 


42  THE  MAGYAR 

not  so  much  of  what  was  said  as  by  the  personality 
of  the  man  who  said  it. 

For  two  hours  lie  spoke  direct  to  the  hearts  of  the 
men.  His  tongue  seemed  tipped  with  fire — he  was  a 
living  flame. 

As  he  left  the  hall  men  tumbled  over  each  other  to 
grip  his  hand.  Young  Oglethorpe  was  much  in  evi 
dence  and  trotted  by  his  side  as  a  few  Seniors  led  him 
to  a  large  dormitory,  where  he  answered  questions  until 
long  after  midnight. 

"When  he  returned  to  the  farm  Mrs.  Ruden  was  in 
her  room  awaiting  him.  Her  eyes  were  red  and 
swollen.  She  was  quiet,  but  evidently  distressed. 

"I  am  going  to  the  Oglethorpe 's, "  she  said,  as  he 
seated  himself  by  her  side. 

"The  Oglethorpe 's !"  he  gasped. 

"Yes — why  are  you  surprised'?" 

"Well,  if  what  you  told  me  of  Mr.  Oglethorpe  bo 
true—" 

"Of  course,"  she  interrupted — "he's  a  man  of  the 
world — but  he's  successful  and  Mabel  is  happy." 

"And  the  children?"  Ruden  asked. 

"Mother  wants  them,  as  you  know,  for  a  year." 

Next  morning  when  the  daily  papers  spoke  in  un 
stinted  praise  of  the  lecture  and  of  the  unusual  recep 
tion  accorded  the  lecturer,  Mrs.  Ruden  almost  recalled 
her  decision.  A  decisive  step  on  her  husband's  part 
prevented  a  reaction,  and  a  few  days  later  the  arrange 
ments  for  her  departure  were  completed. 


CHAPTER    VI 

A    FAIR    PROPAGANDIST    ENTERS 

IN  the  forenoon  of  the  last  day  on  the  farm,  Stephen 
Ruden  took  his  three  children  to  his  favorite  haunt  by 
the  brook  to  say  good-bye.  Only  Genevieve  understood. 

"Shall  we  ever  corne  back  to  Brook  Farm,  papa?" 
.she  asked. 

"Xo,  dear,  probably  not." 

"Never?" 

' '  Oh — some  time,  perhaps,  we  may  come  up  here  and 
look  at  the  changes  made — when  you  are  a  young 
woman  ;  and  perhaps  when  Sacha  comes  to  Colonial  we 
will  visit  him  and  he  will  take  us  out  for  a  drive!" 

"I  know  what  1  will  remember  best!" 

"What,    sweetheart?" 

"The  white  birch  tree  you  planted  for  my  birthday!" 

Ruden  wondered  what  he  would  most  vividly  remem 
ber.  The  boulder,  perhaps,  for  it  was  to  him  a  Geth- 
semane  of  sorrow  and  tears.  He  stood  them  one  by 
one  on  the  big  stone  and  kissed  them  long  and  affec 
tionately.  Together  they  knelt,  and  with  one  hand  on 
Sacha 's  head  and  the  other  alternating  between  Gene 
vieve  and  Alice,  he  invoked  the  blessing  of  God. 
They  sang  the  hymn  that  always  preceded  the  evening 
meal,  and  then  returned  to  find  their  mother  in  readi 
ness  for  the  long  journey. 

It  was  about  five  when  he  returned  from  the  depot 
after  seeing  them  off.  The  sun  wras  sinking  behind 
West  Rock  in  a  burst  of  purple  and  golden  glory.  The 

43 


44  THE  MAGYAR 

ground  was  covered  with  leaves.  He  lacked  heart  to 
go  indoors  on  his  return,  and  went  past  the  house, 
through  the  yard,  and  with  bent  head  and  hands  be 
hind  his  back,  walked  slowly  down  toward  the  boulder. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  was  joined  by  Rover.  The  big 
collie  whined — perhaps  in  sympathy,  perhaps  in  sorrow 
for  the  loss  of  Sacha.  They  might  have  been  painted 
as  shepherd  and  dog,  but  the  shepherd  had  no  flock — 
it  had  left  by  degrees  until  he  was  now  alone.  There 
seemed  an  element  of  defeat  in  his  loneliness.  He 
longed  for  tears — there  was  no  one  to  see  them  now — - 
but  no  tears  came.  He  had  noticed  that  his  wife  had 
as  much  as  her  heart  could  bear,  too.  He  wTas  thankful 
for  her  tears.  She  had  stopped  between  the  farm  and 
Derby  Avenue  as  they  went  off,  and  Stephen  read  in 
her  large  eyes  a  struggle. 

"Go  on,"  she  said,  "I'm  just  thinking  for  a  mo 
ment."  Then  she  overtook  him  and  a  harder  look  was 
there. 

He  was  now  going  rapidly  over  the  scenes  of  the 
past  year.  His  wife  could  have  told  each  stopping 
place  of  his  mind  by  watching  his  face.  Rover  jumped 
to  his  feet  and  uttered  a  low  whine,  but  he  was  un 
noticed  by  his  master  until  he  barked  his  disapproval 
at  an  approaching  visitor.  A  moment  later  Ethel 
Ains worth  came  down  the  path. 

"Ethel!" 

"Mr.  Ruden!" 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in  silence, 
then  extended  their  hands. 

"I  happened  to  be  entering  the  depot  coming  from 
New  York  as  Madeline  and  the  children  left.  We 
waved  to  each  other — she  was  in  tears." 

"So  you  took  the  car  out?" 


A  FAIR  PROPAGANDIST  ENTERS  45 

"Yes,  I  knew  you  would  be  alone,  and  I  wanted  to 
talk  to  you." 

"Let  me  share  my  boulder  with  you.  My  best 
friends  have  shared  it.  Sacha  stood  there  while  I 
kissed  him  good-bye  to-day.  Socialists,  beggars  and 
literary  men  have  shared  it  while  we  talked.  Jack 
London  sat  there  and  made  me  swear  a  solemn  oath  a 
few  days  ago.  Sit  down,  won't  you?" 

"Tell  me  about  the  oath." 

"Not  until  you  have  told  me  a  few  of  the  things 
hurting  your  mind  for  expression  ! ' ' 

"Don't  you  want  to  hear  some  gossip  of  your  former 
parish  ? ' ' 

"No — thank  you!  except  as  it  relates  to  a  certain 
Portia  who  is  now  a  learned  member  of  the  Bar!" 

"AYe  will  be  talking  in  'lighter  vein'  if  we  are  not 
careful,"  she  said. 

"Proceed  then!" 

"I  was  at  the  Davenport  Hall  meeting." 

"I  suspected  your  presence.  What  did  you  think 
of  it?" 

"It  was  a  crisis  in  my  life!" 

"How?" 

"You  know  how  I  have  been  ringing  the  changes  on 
definitions !  I  have  rather  gloried  in  the  fact  that  I 
couldn't  understand  Socialism.  'Define  it!'  I  have 
shouted  at  you  and  others.  The  Davenport  Hall 
meeting  cured  me — no,  I  was  cured  before  that ! 
Philip  came  and  told  me  how  the  vision  came  to  him 
on  the  campus — he  thought  it  due  me.  In  the  telling 
of  it,  Philip  stirred  my  soul  to  its  depths.  At  Daven 
port  Hall  the  positive  note  was  struck — the  affirma 
tive  intellect  was  dominant.  I  felt  the  charm  of  it ; 
and  as  I  looked  around  and  contrasted  the  fire,  the 


46  THE  MAGYAR 

passion  of  it  all  with  the  stagnant  marshes  of  negation 
and  doubt  and  fear,  I  saw  my  duty.  It  was  like  tear 
ing  one's  flesh  off — but  I  tore  away  from  my  class  and 
accepted  social  baptism  in  that  inspiring  atmosphere 
of  revolt!" 

Her  blue  eyes  flashed,  her  bosom  heaved,  and  as  the 
former  minister  watched  her,  the  prophet  in  him  re 
treated,  and  the  man  advanced.  Ethel  Ainsworth  had 
been  a  girl — a  school  girl  to  him  up  to  this  moment; 
but  she  had  crossed  that  bridge  now  and  could  never 
return. 

"What  will  you  do,   Ethel?" 

' '  Give  my  life  to  the  people  ! ' ' 

"How?" 

"Earn  a  living  by  practising  law  and  devote  my 
spare  time  to  the  propaganda." 

"Join  the  party?" 

"Certainly!" 

"Good  heavens — 

"Don't  counsel  patience,"  she  said,  interrupting 
him,  "or  ask  me  to  go  slow,  or  anything  of  that  kind. 
If  you  are  my  friend,  urge  me  to  do  something  big, 
noble,  daring — worth  while!" 

"You  have  some  daring  scheme  in  mind — what 
is  it?" 

"Half  a  dozen  came  to  me  in  Davenport  Hall!" 

"Tell  me  of  them." 

"Celia  Bauerman,  the  pretty  sixteen-year-old  sister 
of  Philip,  is  infatuated  with  that  rake,  Oglethorpe. 
He  has  promised  to  marry  her,  and  the  poor  thing  be 
lieves  him.  Philip  doesn't  know  of  it.  She  works  in 
Hauff's  candystore  and  met  him  there.  When  Philip 
gave  me  the  names  of  the  students  who  got  up  the  pro 
test  meeting,  I  could  scarcely  restrain  myself!  So,  as 


A  FAIR  PROPAGANDIST  ENTERS  47 

I  sal:  in  the  meeting,  I  conceived  of  the  formation  of  a 
society  for  the  protection  of  workingmen 's  daughters 
from  Colonial  students." 

"That  would  be  a  sensation!" 

"Yes — and  nothing  less  will  do.  The  Colonial  au 
thorities  ignore  the  situation,  and  the  churches  are 
afraid  to  touch  it. ' ' 

"You  couldn't  make  a  living  in  New  Oxford  and 
do  that." 

"AYhy  not?" 

"For  the  same  reason  that  they  have  starved  me  out. 
Don't  you  remember  the  case  of  Mrs.  Prut  cat,  the  pas 
tor's  wife  who  hinted  at  something  of  that  kind,  and 
her  husband  was  'called  of  God'  to  Philadelphia?" 

"Yes;  and  Christ  was  hanged  on  a  tree,  and  his  fol 
lowers  were  thrown  to  the  lions — but  they  had  courage! 
This  is  an  age  of  backboneless  men  and  butterfly 
women.  It's  an  age  of  polite  mendacity  and  effemi 
nate  pink  teas.  In  the  midst  of  such  a  morass,  isn't 
there  room  for  a  woman?" 

"Yes — room  for  you;  but  go  in  for  a  big  thing!" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"    . 

"I  have  thought  some  about  going  South.  Madeline 
is  to  be  in  Alabama  this  winter.  Oglethorpe,  her  host, 
doesn't  know  me.  I  am  going  to  look  into  labor  con 
ditions  for  a  magazine." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  as  he  looked  at  her.  Then 
he  added :  "I  wish  we  could  go  together. ' ' 

"You  don't  mean  that,  Stephen,  do  you?"  It  was 
the  woman  in  her  that  spoke,  and  he  was  startled  and 
pleased  at  the  sound  of  his  name. 

"Certainly,  I  mean  it;  but,  of  course,  that's  impos 
sible  !  This  is  a  case  of  treading  the  wine  press  alone. 
To  have  you  with  me  would  be  to  infuse  me  with  the 


48  THE  MAGYAR 

life  of  a  god ;  but  I  would  be  content  if  one  of  the  hun 
dreds  of  single  young  men  who  have  claimed  conver 
sion  under  me  would  step  out  and  say,  'I'll  go!'  : 

"AYhy  doesn't  someone?" 

"My  dear,  they  are  slaves.  They  profess  to  believe 
in  God,  but  they  lie  or  deceive  themselves.  They  are 
slaves  to  their  stomachs;  they  might  not  get  enough  to 
eat.  They  are  manacled  by  the  clanking  chains  of 
what  is  called  respectability.  Only  one  in  a  million  in 
this  beef  age  opens  the  gates  of  his  divinity;  the  rest 
have  double  bolts,  and  the  hinges  are  rust-eaten!" 

"Stephen,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  his,  "what 
do  you  mean  by  'the  life  of  a  god?'  : 

1 '  This :  that  since  the  conscious  dawn  of  manhood, 
I  have  thirsted  for  a  fellowship  that  was  evenly  bal 
anced — not  a  mere  breeding  arrangement,  but  a  soul 
comradeship  with  not  only  the  objective  of  service,  but 
of  fun,  of  laughter  and  joy.  Lycurgus  had  a  statue 
to  the  god  of  laughter  in  every  house  in  Sparta.  So 
should  we ;  but  the  struggle  to  get  bread  and  appear 
respectable  is  so  absolutely  engrossing,  that  there  is  no 
time  to  live,  to  laugh,  to  make  a  brighter  world !  By 
the  life  of  a  god,  I  mean  a  full  life  sanely  expressed  in 
worship  of  God  and  service  to  man." 

She  was  watching  every  line  of  his  face.  Her  lips 
were  parted  and  her  eyes  were  full.  He  was  express 
ing  the  thoughts  of  her  own  heart. 

"AYhat  is  a  Platonic  friendship?"  she  asked,  as  she 
nestled  closer  to  his  side  on  the  boulder. 

"It's  anything  from  the  associations  of  a  bagnio  to 
the  friendship  of  Jesus  and  Mary!"  he  answered. 

"You  don't  like  the  phrase?" 

"It  is  usually  used  as  the  cover  for  a  pot  of  lies,  and 
is  overworked  at  all  times." 


A  FAIR  PROPAGANDIST  ENTERS  49 

"What  would  you  call  our  friendship?" 

"It  is  in  its  earliest  stage.  Yours  may  be  the  ad 
miration  of  a  neophyte — it  may  be  more.  Mine  began 
as  the  love  of  a  minister  for  his  convert ;  it  grew  as  you 
grew.  Now  it  is  the  love  that  loves  because  of  what 
the  object  is  in  itself.  It  has  no  reciprocal  relation — 
no  axe  to  grind.  It  goes  out  and  centers  in  its  object; 
like  an  arrow  it  penetrates,  and  the  barbs  hold  it." 

"And  if  the  object  changes  in  character?" 

' '  Love  may  change,  too  ! ' ' 

"Do  you  remember  what  Madeline  said  one  night 
nbout  'husbands  in  the  devil?'  : 

"I  do — she  was  right.  I  think  she  had  in  mind  a 
man  who  shirks  responsibility,  deserts  his  wife  and 
children  for  a  new — and  often  selfish  and  fleshly  love." 

"Then,  there  is  danger." 

"Yes,  of  course;  but  the  danger  itself  is  a  spice  of 
life — an  adventure  to  the  edge;  but  we  are  not  wound 
up  mechanical  toys.  AYe  have  a  choice  prerogative  and 
power." 

"You  are  so  strong!"  she  said. 

"Be  careful,  Delilah!" 

They  laughed. 

"Are  we  in  danger?" 

"Yes;  on  the  very  edge!" 

"I  wish  I  could  play  the  heroic  part  of  rescuer — just 
fur  once." 

"You  can,  Ethel!  Save  yourself  and  me — do  it 
now!" 

The  rescuer  was  at  that  moment  breaking  through 
the  underbrush,  having  lost  himself  in  a  search  for  his 
friend.  It  was  Philip  Bauerman. 

"Good-bye!"  Ethel  said  as  Philip  approached. 

"Good-bye,  comrade — good-bye!"     There  was  a  long 


50  THE  .MAGYAR 

look,  and  an  affectionate  clasp  of  the  hands — and  they 
went  their  way. 

"Hello,  Philip!" 

"Hello,  Mr.  Ruden!" 

"Only  a  few  hours  left  on  the  old  farm,  Philip. 
There  are  a  few  points  I  want  to  look  at — come  along. 
Here — , "  said  Ruden,  "is  where  I  hoped  some  day  to 
build  a  little  twelve  by  twelve  study  of  these  stones  ly 
ing  around.  You  see  what  a  fine  view  of  AYest  Rock 
I  have  through  that  vista  of  trees.  Oh,  these  trees, 
Philip,  have  become  human  to  me.  Out  of  these  old 
hemlocks  I  have  gotten  more  sympathy  than  from  any 
thing  around  me ! ' ' 

To  his  right,  as  he  faced  the  rock,  loomed  up  an  ugly 
ice  house  on  the  edge  of  a  pond,  and  beyond  it — the 
still  uglier  structure  around  Colonial  field;  and  away 
beyond,  the  city  of  New  Oxford.  He  took  leave  of  his 
favorite  walks  and  views.  lie  looked  over  the  scene  of 
his  failure  in  farming  and  laughed  as  lie  told  Philip  of 
the  crops  that  went  in  and  never  came  out. 

Then,  as  if  talking  to  himself,  lie  said:  "I  must  be 
gin  life  over  again,  learn  a  new  trade  and  adapt  myself 
to  changed  conditions.  People  and  things,  wife  and 
children,  home  and  friends  have  fallen  away  from  me 
as  mist  before  the  sun.  I  am  alone — and  one  might  as 
well  be  dead  as  alone."  Philip  recalled  him  from  his 
reverie:  "There  are  some  things  left." 

"Ah,  yes,  Philip,  I  am  ungrateful. — Some  big  things 
are  left— God  and  the  yeast  stirrers  are  left  and  I  must 
get  close  to  both ! 

"  '  As  the  marsh  hen  builds  on  the  watery  sod 

Behold  I  must  build  me  a  nest  on  the  greatness  of  God.'  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

MUCKERS    IX    THE    MUSCLE    MARKET 

A  DOZEN  men  lounged  arovmd  a  table  in  the  Magyar 
Slovensky  Hotel,  a  low,  cheap  combination  of  labor 
agency  and  lodging  house  in  Greenwich  Street,  New 
York.  Most  of  them  were  recent  arrivals.  One  of 
them  was  a  Hungarian  youth  of  nineteen,  named  Franz. 
He  was  quaintly  dressed  in  tight-fitting  trousers,  black 
velvet  jacket  trimmed  with  silk,  and  a  George  Fox  hat. 
It  was  his  first  day  in  the  United  States,  and  he  was 
innocently  parading  his  finery.  A  different  sort  was 
"Joe,  the  Polak, "  who  sat  beside  Franz.  Joe  was 
twenty,  wore  a  pink  shirt  open  at  the  neck  and  collar- 
less.  He  had  been  in  the  country  about  a  year  and  had 
taken  several  long  distance  trips  into  the  labor  market 
of  the  South  and  far  AVest.  His  black  shocky  hair  hung 
profusely  over  his  forehead.  ATith  both  feet  propped 
on  a  chair,  he  Avas  leisurely  rolling  cigarettes  and  tak 
ing  the  measure  of  his  companions  while  awaiting  the 
call  of  the  camp.  Three  of  the  others  were  stranded 
German  sailors;  two  were  Swedes,  two  Russians,  and 
one  Bulgarian.  Most  of  them  were  picturesque — all 
of  them  save  one  tough  of  muscle  and  bronzed,  and  all, 
save  one,  bore  the  labor  look — they  had  the  tang  and 
odor  of  the  ground.  Stephen  Ruden  was  the  exception. 
He  stood  with  his  elbow  on  the  bar,  trying  to  feel  at 
home,  but  every  man  in  the  place  knew  instinctively 
that  he  did  not  belong  there.  He  had  a  six  weeks' 
growth  of  beard,  had  neglected  his  hair,  wore  a  cotton 

51 


52  THE  MAGYAR 

shirt  open  at  the  neck,  and  carried  a  bundle  wrapped 
in  a  bright  yellow  muslin.  But  he  was  not  disguised. 
Of  course,  the  fickle  dame  had  sent  fine  men  in  rags 
down  there  before,  but  it  only  takes  a  gesture,  a  look, 
a  word,  to  betray  to  such  a  group  as  lounged  around 
that  table  the  difference  between  such  a  man  and  them 
selves. 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the 
landlady,  Mrs.  Reiss,  shuffled  into  the  midst  of  the 
group.  Mrs.  Reiss  weighed  two  hundred-fifty  pounds. 
Her  bullet-shaped  head  sat  well  clown  on  her  fat  shoul 
ders.  Her  face  was  wrinkled  and  yellow.  She  was 
loosely  arrayed  in  a  mother-hubbard  with  a  large  girdle 
indicating  the  waist  line.  Jerry,  the  old  Irishman  who 
swept  the  place  out  and  sprinkled  the  sand  on  the  floor 
every  morning,  was  just  finishing  his  work  when  she 
entered. 

"Veil,  Cherry!"  she  said,  "vat  you  vas  last  night, 
hey?  Drunk,  I  bet,  hey?  Agh — you  Gott  tarn  lazy 
Irisher ! ' ' 

Jerry  hung  his  head  and  glanced  out  of  the  corners 
of  his  eyes  at  Ruden.  Then  she  directed  her  attention 
to  Ruden. 

"AYhere   you    come?     Greenhorn,    hey — yes?" 

"Yes,"  Ruden  answered,  "very  green." 

"Where  you  go— Alabam'?  Hey?  Nice  boy!"  she 
said,  coming  closer  and  tickling  him  under  the  chin. 

Ruden  rolled  a  cigarette.  His  companions  looked 
and  laughed. 

"P'what  an  edge!"  Jerry  whispered  to  Ruden  as  he 
passed  him. 

Once  a  day  "the  agent"  visited  the  hotel  and  gath 
ered  up  whatever  had  drifted  into  the  net. 

"You  shtand  up  nice  und  goot, "  Charlie,  the  assist- 


MUCKERS  IN  THE  MUSCLE  MARKET       53 

ant,  said  to  Ruden,  "und  maype  you'll  go;  but  py  golly, 
I  don't  know  for  shure!" 

He  had  some  doubt,  for  while  thirty  thousand  men 
went  South  from  such  agencies  every  year,  Americans 
and  Irish  might  as  well  not  apply.  This  was  a  discov 
ery  to  Ruden.  Charlie's  explanation  may  have  left 
nothing  unsaid:  "Dey  kicka  up  hella  alia  time  every 
where  ! ' ' 

The  agent  was  an  American — a  young  man.  When 
he  arrived,  they  stood  up  for  inspection. 

"What  have  you  got?"  he  asked  Charlie,  as  he  e}Ted 
the  group. 

"Tarn  goot  men  all — every  one!" 

One  by  one  they  were  taken  into  the  inner  office,  and 
to  each  was  read  the  printed  labor  contract.  Big  hope 
these  contracts  built  up— two,  three  and  four  dollars  a 
day.  They  were  made  for  a  year  and  stipulated  that 
out  of  the  first  three  months'  pay  the  passage  money 
should  be  refunded.  If  the  party  of  the  second  part 
stayed  six  months,  the  company  promised  to  make  him 
a  present  of  his  fare. 

"Where  you  go?"  Joe  asked  Ruden,  "Alabam'?" 

"Yes." 

"Ah — "  he  sighed,  as  he  shook  his  head,  "Alabam' 
hell!  I  bin  dere — I  know." 

Joe  was  conveniently  absent  when  the  agent  was 
around.  There  were  other  calls  from  Jersey  and  Long 
Island,  and  for  one  of  these  Joe  waited.  With  night 
came  two  men  from  Jersey  looking  for  "hands"  for 
truck  gardens;  but  the  highest  figure  was  too  low  for 
him,  so  he  visited  several  other  agencies  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  but  without  success. 

A  mutual  confidence  sprang  up  between  Franz  and 
Ruden.  There  was  a  sympathy  in  the  older  man's  face 


54  THE  MAGYAR 

that  the  young  stranger  was  quick  to  detect  and  take 
advantage  of.  "With  the  exception  of  a  tour  through 
the  other  agencies  with  Joe,  Ruden  kept  close  to  Franz. 
Communication  between  them  at  first  was  difficult,  for 
Franz  knew  nothing  of  English  and  only  a  smattering 
of  German. 

When  the  regular  boarders — 'longshoremen,  peddlers 
and  truckmen — vacated  the  basement  dining-room,  the 
labor  contingent  was  ordered  to  get  what  was  left. 
After  supper  the  labor  men  under  contract  mingled 
with  the  regular  boarders  and  talked  muscle  market 
until  Mrs.  Reiss  handed  Ruden  an  inch  of  tallow  candle, 
and  said — "Blow  it  out  for  shure  when  youse  lie  down." 

Room  number  twelve  in  the  Magyar  Hotel  is  a  sort 
of  Micawber  dormitory  for  contract-men  in  transit  u. 
It  was  filled  so  full  of  beds  that  some  of  them  could  only 
be  reached  by  climbing  over  the  others.  Each  bed  was 
furnished  with  a  horse  blanket  and  a  sheet.  The  sheets 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  dried  in  a  brown  wind.  The 
walls  were  damp  and  were  paraded  by  battalions  of 
cockroaches.  The  floor,  like  the  bar-room,  was  sanded. 

Joe  shut  all  the  windows  tightly.  The  men  lay  down 
together  on  the  cold  sodden  beds  as  if  they  had  known 
each  other  a  lifetime.  Ruden  had  an  overcoat.  lie 
buttoned  it  to  the  chin  and  lay  down  beside  Franz,  ex 
tinguishing  the  candle  as  he  was  told,  when  it  was  no 
longer  needed.  Sleep  was  impossible.  A  creeping  fire 
attacked  Franz  and  Joe.  The  rats  began  to  explore, 
and  finding  some  tallow  on  Franz's  shoe,  began  to  nib 
ble  it.  Then  Jerry  came  in  half-drunk  and  clambered 
over  the  bodies  in  search  of  a  vacant  spot,  each  man 
throwing  him  on  top  of  the  next  one  as  he  went  along. 
The  elevated  trains  rattled  and  screeched  past  the  house 
all  night.  The  hotel  is  at  the  point  on  Greenwich 


MUCKERS  IN  THE  MUSCLE  MARKET       55 

Street  where  two  lines  meet.  Mrs.  Reiss  brought  sev 
eral  men  up  during  the  night,  and  pushing  them  inside 
in  the  dark,  would  say, — "Plenty  room — lie  down— go 
sleep!"  The  men  grunted,  exclaimed,  grit  their  teeth, 
and  swore. 

Ruden  and  Franz  talked  in  German,  but  when  Franz 
was  attacked,  as  he  frequently  was,  he  exclaimed  in 
Hungarian.  There  was  something  strangely  familiar 
in  these  exclamations  to  Ruden.  They  were  like  sounds 
of  a  life  he  had  lived  before.  The  strangest  part  of  it 
was  that  he  understood  them  as  easily  as  he  did  Franz 's 
bad  German.  He  had  no  recollection  of  ever  having 
heard  a  word  of  Hungarian  until  he  entered  the  Magyar 
Hotel,  and  he  was  startled  when  the  thought  occurred 
to  him  that  he  had  struck  the  first  clue  to  his  parentage 
and  childhood.  It  was  under  these  circumstances  that 
he  lisped  over  again,  under  the  tutorship  of  Franz, 
what  he  knew  must  have  been  the  language  he  learned 
on  his  mother's  knee.  For  this  recall  of  the  past,  he 
taught  Franz  in  an  undertone  the  pronunciation  and 
meaning  of  the  English  equivalents  of  the  small  vocab 
ulary  of  key  words  he  mastered  in  the  sleepless  hours 
before  the  dawn. 

"Did  you  sleep  well,  Joe?"  Ruden  asked. 

"Hella,  no!"  Joe  said.     "All  anight  dese  sons  of  - 
stinga  me  bad !" 

When  the  Magyar  Hotel  contingent  arrived  at  the 
dock  of  the  Old  Dominion  Steamship  Company,  it  was 
joined  by  several  others.  The  total  number,  as  they 
made  a  final  muster,  was  seventy-two,  half  of  whom 
were  Greeks.  Four  negro  deck  hands  roped  them  into 
several  divisions  with  the  same  freedom  and  in  much 
the  same  language  that  they  managed  a  carload  of  cat 
tle.  When  the  thirty  or  forty  bunks  beneath  the  fo'- 


56  THE  MAGYAR 

castle  were  filled,  the  rest  were  corralled  amidships  and 
each  provided  with  a  stretcher. 

"Pardon  me,"  Ruden  said  to  a  negro  who  was  tying 
a  setter  dog  to  a  stanchion  close  by, — "would  you  mind 
tying  your  dog  over  there  near  the  side?" 

The  negro  was  a  temporary  nurse  to  a  high  class 
setter  whose  master  was  going  South  to  hunt. 

"Yes,  sail — Ah  do  mind — this  yere  spot  's  d'  cleanest 
around'  yere,  an'  Ah  guess  dis  yere  is  whar  he'll  hang 
out!" 

"Were  you  told  to  tie  him  here?" 

"Yes,  sah!  Ah  sho  was;  Ah  told  in. 'self,  an'  dere's 
two  more  to  come!"  lie  laughed  as  he  departed  to 
bring  the  others. 

"Can't  these  dogs  be  put  somewhere  else?"  Ruden 
asked  a  petty  officer. 

"Them  dogs  are  first-class  passengers!" 

"Oh— and  we?" 

"You  ain't  passengers   at   all — you're  freight!" 

Ruden  was  silent.  The  officer  bit  a  mouthful  of  to 
bacco  off  his  quid  and  grinned. 

The  stretchers  were  arranged  in  double  tiers,  and  the 
laborers  lounged  around  them.  A  German  produced  a 
concertina  and  furnished  music.  Two  Italians  sang  a 
duet ;  others  sat  in  small  groups  and  told  stories.  They 
were  happy,  apparently,  and  care-free. 

"What  are  you  reading,  Franz?"  asked  Ruden  in  a 
mixture  of  German  and  Hungarian,  as  Old  Point  Com 
fort  was  sighted. 

' '  Ein   Meistershaflesbuch  ! ' ' 

It  was  a  Magyar  New  Testament,  and  as  it  was  yet 
dark,  Franz  was  reading  by  the  light  of  matches — a 
verse  to  a  match. 

The  comrades  were  on  deck  early,  and  after  an  hour 


MUCKERS  IN  THE  MUSCLE  MARKET       57 

in  language  lessons,  Franz  produced  a  marvelous  col 
lection  of  certificates.  He  had  them  in  order.  The 
midwife's,  of  course,  came  first;  then  the  registrar  of 
vital  statistics;  vaccination;  school  in  all  the  grades  he 
had  passed  through ;  changes  of  residence ;  apprentice 
ship  ;  citizenship;  baptism;  confirmation  and  church 
membership.  Every  phase  of  life  was  catalogued  and 
officially  attested.  He  was  prouder  of  some  than  of 
others.  The  favorites  were  the  ones  with  red  govern 
ment  seals.  He  had  graduated  as  a  journeyman 
butcher,  and  after  the  display  of  certificates  and  diplo 
mas,  he  spread  out  his  case  of  butcher's  knives,  handling 
each  one  with  something  akin  to  affection. 

There  was  a  long  wait  at  Norfolk  for  a  train. 

"Don't  any  of  youse  move  out  of  that  door,"  said 
the  boss  of  the  gang,  "or  ye  may  get  a  bullet  in  yer — 
see?" 

They  were  in  the  depot — and  were  served  with  three 
feet  of  bread,  a  box  of  sardines  and  a  half  pound  of 
cheese  each.  The  ration  was  to  last  the  day. 

"Come  on,  Franz — we'll  have  a  look  at  Norfolk," 
Ruden  said. 

"The  hell  ye  will!     Make  a  move  now  and  see!" 

Ruden  took  the  man  gently  by  the  arm  to  one  side. 
"Look  here,"  he  said  quietly,  "these  poor  souls  do  not 
know  the  game ;  I  do.  Now,  we  are  going  around  the 
city,  and  if  you  make  a  move — if  you  lift  a  finger,  I'll 
thrash  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life  before  the  gang, 
then  I'll  have  you  arrested!" 

The  boss  stuck  his  hands  deep  into  his  trousers'  pock 
ets,  glared  fiercely  for  a  moment,  and  then  said — 

"Well,  don't  be  too  long — see!" 

It  was  after  sundown  before  they  were  shipped  to 
Portsmouth  and  driven  on  board  the  train.  A  negro 


58  THE  MAGYAR 

took  Euden  by  the  shoulder  and  led  him.  with  his  yel 
low  bundle  along  the  platform;  the  others  followed. 
When  they  entered  the  car,  Ruden  noticed  the  sign  of 
the  "Jim  Crow  Car."  Several  colored  people  were  al 
ready  seated.  When  they  were  seated  and  their  bun 
dles  stored  under  the  seats,  Ruden  stopped  the  big  black 
porter  in  the  aisle,  and  said : 

"I  thought  you  had  a  law  in  the  State  of  Virginia 
about  the  separation  of  the  races?" 

The  black  man  showed  his  white  teeth  in  glee.  ' '  Dere 
sho  is,  boss;  but  bless  yo'  soul,  honey,  youse  ain't  no 
races — youse  is  jest  Dagoes,  ain't  youse?" 

It  was  Ruden 's  turn  to  smile.  He  imagined  he  would 
fare  better  with  the  conductor  who  swept  into  the  car 
with  the  air  of  an  admiral  on  half  pay.  He  wore  gold- 
rimmed  glasses,  immaculate  linen  and  a  glitter  of  brass 
buttons.  Ruden  stepped  in  front  of  him  as  he  came 
up  the  aisle. 

"Brother,"  lie  said,  "why  do  you  stuff  us  white  men 
into  a  'Jim  Crow  Car'?  I  thought  there  was  a  law 
down  here  against  that." 

The  conductor  uttered  not  a  syllable.  He  turned 
back,  took  the  yellow  card  out  of  the  frame,  turned  it 
and  it  read,  "White."  The  colored  people  jumped  to 
their  feet  and  made  for  the  door,  but  were  pushed 
back  by  the  porter  with  the  assurance — "Dat's  a  bluff; 
it  don't  mean  no  thin'." 

The  typical  passenger  train  in  the  South  is  due  when 
it  arrives;  and  as  for  freight  trains,  the  conductor 
makes  the  time  schedule  as  he  goes  along. 

After  two  days'  snailing,  side-tracking  and  changing, 
the  gang  arrived  at  Atlanta.  There  it  was  split  into 
four  parties.  A  woods-foreman  of  the  Blockheart 
Lumber  Company  took  Ruden 's  section  in  charge.  He 


MUCKERS  IN  THE  MUSCLE  MARKET       59 

was  a  short,  stout,  smooth-faced  man,  named  Gallagher. 
He  had  the  look  of  a  fighter;  his  mouth  was  a  mere  slit 
across  his  face,  large  nose,  small  eyes,  and  deep  fur 
rows  ploughing  their  way  in  all  directions.  He  carried 
his  coat  over  his  arm,  and  out  of  each  hip  pocket  bulged 
the  butt  of  a  Colt  revolver. 

Blockheart  is  a  small  town  in  Alabama,  near  the  Flor 
ida  line.  It  is  an  aggregation  of  square  huts  surround 
ing  a  lumber  mill,  and  owned  by  the  Company.  Seven 
miles  out  in  the  pine  forest  was  situated  Camp  Number 
One,  popularly  known  as  "The  Gulch."  A  small  com 
pany  road  called  the  "Dixie  Route"  was  the  connect 
ing  link,  and  on  a  lumber  tract  of  the  Dixie  Route,  in 
the  early  part  of  October,  1905,  went  Ruden  and  his 
companions  to  the  forest. 

The  camp  consisted  of  a  train  of  box  cars  on  the 
rails  arranged  like  a  Bowery  lodging  house  for  the  ac 
commodation  of  the  lumber-Jacks.  A  group  met  the 
incoming  train,  for  a  carload  of  Greenhorns  was  an 
nounced  and  on  such  occasions  each  nationality  in  camp 
looked  out  for  its  own. 

"Wie  Gehts?"  shouted  Hans,  a  German  teamster, 
and  all  the  Germans  in  the  new  party  replied.  The 
next  exclamation  was  Polish,  and  then  a  Russian  called 
out  and  was  answered.  Faces  were  expectant  at  such 
times,  and  each  man's  mind  was  across  the  sea — each 
for  a  moment  filled  with  a  big  hope.  A  youth  removed 
his  cap,  and  shouted:  "Hogyvan!"  It  was  a  Magyar 
salutation  and  startled  Franz ;  but  he  was  late  in  an 
swering,  and  quick  as  a  flash  Ruden  replied: 

"Jol  Baratom!" — hello  comrade — as  he  stepped  for 
ward  and  gripped  the  man  by  the  hand. 

Old  Jordaneff,  the  Bulgarian,  raised  his  voice;  but 
there  was  no  response — he  was  alone.  A  muscular 


60 

thick-lipped  Celt  stood  by,  pipe  in  mouth,  with  folded 
arms. 

' '  T  'hell  wid  yez ! "  he  said,  as  he  turned  away  in  dis 
gust.  "There  isn't  a  maan  among  yez  that  spakes  a 
dacent  langwidge  nor  comes  from  a  dacent  town!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    LAW    OP    THE    FOREST    WRIT    IN    LEAD 

A  LUMBER  camp  to  a  lover  of  nature  looks  like  a  battle- 
Held — a  place  of  execution.  From  sunrise  to  sunset  is 
heard  the  click  of  the  executioner's  axe,  and  every  few 
minutes  a  thunderous  crash  that  shakes  the  earth  as 
each  giant  of  the  forest  falls  and  leaves  behind  him  a 
vacant  spot  against  the  blue  Southern  sky.  A  train  of 
a  hundred  cars  loaded  with  logs  and  pulled  by  a  snort 
ing  steam  demon  looks  like  a  catafalque  on  its  way  to  a 
place  of  burial.  In  the  wake  of  the  lumber  king  lie 
millions  of  acres  of  black  bleeding  stumps — a  scene  of 
desolation  and  despair  that  chills  the  sensibilities  and 
makes  one  wonder  what  future  friends  of  the  forest  will 
think  of  the  age  of  annihilation — an  age  in  which  lum 
ber  kings  took  no  thought  for  the  life  of  bird  or  beast 
or  man ;  an  age  in  which  the  axe  not  only  cut  down  the 
trees,  but  cut  off  the  rain  of  the  heavens  and  left  mil 
lions  of  birds  and  beasts  homeless. 

At  six  o'clock  the  morning  after  their  arrival,  the 
new  gang  were  put  to  work.  Franz  was  the  only  man 
who  demurred.  As  sacred  as  the  thought  of  God  to 
him  was  the  thought  of  the  law.  There  was  but  one 
law — one  kind  of  justice — and  to  his  simple  mind,  these 
things  were  alike  the  world  over.  "When  he  carefully 
packed  his  certificates  and  diplomas  in  his  grip,  they 
were  to  carry  him  over  the  earth. 

""What's  the  fuss  about?"  Gallagher  asked,  as  he 
came  out  of  the  box-car  at  daybreak. 


62  THE  MAGYAR 

"He  says  his  contract  calls  for  two  dollars  a  day  and 
board,"  said  Shandor,  the  interpreter,  "and  if  he 
doesn't  get  it,  he  won't  work!" 

"Ha  ha!"  laughed  Gallagher,  the  woods-foreman, 
"he  does,  hey?  "Well,  we'll  break  'im  in  a  day  or  so." 

Franz  shook  his  head  and  muttered  to  Shandor  some 
thing  about  the  Law. 

"The  Law!"  exclaimed  Gallagher,  as  he  whipped  out 
one  of  his  revolvers  and  leveled  it  at  the  youngster's 
head — "tell  'im  this  is  the  law  here,  and  that  it  writes 
with  lead!" 

"What's  this  fellow?"  Gallagher  asked,  going  to 
Ruden — "A  Sheeney  or  a  Dago?" 

"A  Magyar,"  the  interpreter  said. 

"What  the  hell's  that?"  he  asked.  "Let's  have  it 
in  English!" 

"He  comes  from  the  same  place  as  this  young  fellow 
that's  kicking  about  his  contract." 

"AVhy  ain't  he  kickin'?" 

"He  hasn't  read  his  yet." 

Ruden  hung  his  head  and  kept  silent. 

"He  looks  husky  enough  for  a  teamster;  give  him  to 
Archie!" 

"That's  a  Sheeney;  I  know  b'  the  cut  of  'is  jib !"  He 
pointed  to  Orminsky,  a  young  Russian,  who,  on  the 
journey  South,  was  known  as  "Squarehead."  By  the 
time  Gallagher  spoke  to  Orminsky,  the  newcomers  had 
all  gathered  around  the  little  master-mind  of  the  forest. 
He  looked  them  carefully  over,  joking  over  the  looks  of 
one,  suggesting  a  department  for  another,  and  finally, 
to  the  group,  he  made  some  remarks  in  general: 

"I  want  t'  give  you  men  a  tip  or  two  before  ye  strip 
t'  yer  job,"  he  said.  "AVe've  put  up  th'  dough  for  yer 
trip  down  here ;  here 's  the  work,  plenty  of  it,  and  here 's 


LAW  OF  THE  FOREST  WRIT  IN  LEAD       63 

the  finest  grub  ever  put  out  of  a  camp  kitchen.  What 
them  fellers  in  New  York  promised  is  none  of  onr  busi 
ness.  The  pay  is  a  dollar  a  day  and  grub.  Now,  we've 
had  some  little  trouble  with  loafers  comin'  an'  goin' 
away  again  before  they  paid  their  fare ;  now,  if  an'y 
fool  notion  like  that  gits  a  holt  on  ye,  cut  it  out,  or  we 
will !  We  've  got  four  dogs  over  there  that  cost  five 
hundred  plunks  apiece;  we've  trained  'em  on  niggers, 
an'  if  one  gits  a  grip  on  any  ov  ye,  yell  think  it's  yer 
turn  t'  pass  in  yer  checks!  This  ain't  no  place  to  sell 
shoestrings  nor  them  rings  ov  bread  on  a  stick  I've 
seen  on  th'  Bowery.  It's  a  place  t'  work!  The  com 
pany  says  to  me — 'Git  out  a  hundred  thousand  logs  a 
day  or  quit!'  It's  up  t'  me;  that's  how  th'  thing 
stands!  Now  yer  onto  th'  game!" 

Ruden  interpreted  this  later  to  Franz,  and  advised 
him  to  go  to  work ;  but  the  boy  shook  his  head. 

"What  is  he — "  Franz  asked,  "an  officer  as  well  as 
boss?  Is  he  a  sheriff?" 

'Must  a  boss,  Franz;  but  he  controls  these  men  by 
fear." 

The  rising  bell  of  the  day  rang  at  five  A.  M.,  the 
breakfast  bell  at  five-thirty  and  the  third  sound  at  six 
was  for  work.  The  labor  went  with  precision  of  a  pen 
itentiary,  and  at  the  first  sound  of  the  six  o'clock  bell, 
thirty  teams  of  powerful  horses  were  led  out  of  the  barn 
and  driven  to  the  drift  for  the  first  loads  of  the  day. 

Ruden  knew  nothing  about  horses,  but  he  mounted 
old  Larry  and  led  by  his  side  Steel,  the  four-year-old 
giant  that  pranced  like  a  cavalry  charger  as  he  fol 
lowed  the  cavalcade  down  the  hill  to  the  edge  of  the 
woods  where  the  thin  white  mist  almost  entirely  ob 
scured  the  trees.  The  trucks  were  at  the  drift,  and 
Ruden 's  first  difficulty  came  in  the  hitching  process. 


64:  THE  MAGYAR 

The  multitude  of  straps  and  buckles  bewildered  him, 
but  he  was  prepared  for  such  emergencies. 

"Sam,"  he  said  to  a  negro,  "you  look  like  a  man 
who  could  hitch  two  teams  while  an  ordinary  man  was 
hitching  one.  This  hitching  business  isn't  in  my  line, 
so  I  have  a  big  package  of  'Peerless'  tobacco  for  the 
man  who  does  the  trick  for  me!" 

"Boss, "  said  Sam,  when  he  saw  the  yellow  package, 
"der  ain't  no  quicker  hitcher  in  Alabama!" 

The  sawyers  went  first  and  lowered  the  trees.  The 
rampers  followed,  trimmed  and  cut  them  into  lengths. 
The  loading  crews  piled  the  giant  pines  on  the  trucks, 
and  the  teams  drew  them  away  from  the  drift  to  the 
ramp  by  the  railroad.  These  divisions,  by  long  prac 
tice,  learn  to  work  like  clockwork,  and  denude  a  forest 
in  quick  time.  Probably  the  cleanest  job  was  the 
teamster's.  In  an  hour,  with  the  help  of  Sam,  Euden 
was  Avell  enough  acquainted  with  the  work  to  escape 
notice  or  comment.  Just  before  the  teamsters  un 
hitched  for  dinner,  Gallagher  with  Dr.  Brace,  the  vet 
erinary,  drove  past  the  drift  at  a  gallop.  In  the  back 
of  the  buggy  crouched  two  of  the  company's  blood 
hounds. 

"Somebody's  g'wine  ter  lose  d'  seat  ov  der  pants 
bcfo'  long!"  said  Sam. 

"AYhere  is  he  going?"  Kuden  asked. 

"After  some  poh  nigger  what's  tuk  French  leave,  Ah 
guess. ' ' 

"Perhaps  it's  a  white  nigger?"  suggested  Kuden. 
"Sho'ly  boss,  sho'ly, — but  Ah  know  what  dese  yer  dogs 
kin  do;  Ah  bin  done — had  dem  arter  me  twice!" 

"Did  you  run  away?" 

"Not  on  yo'  life;  but  Mister  Barlan  sez  to  me  one 
day,  sez  'ee,  'Sam  mend  yo'  licks' — scz  'ee  to  Florada 


LAW  OF  THE  FOREST  WRIT  IN  LEAD       65 

thro  d'  woods — 'ef  d'  dogs  overtakes  ye' — sez  'ee — 
'don't  git  skeer't,  fur  dey  don't  mean  no  harm.'  He 
give  me  two  bits,  and  sez  'ee — 'Now  make  a  break!' 
Boss,  Ah  went  thro'  dat  patch  o'  woods  like  d'  devil 
was  at  m'  heels;  but,  bime  by,  up  dey  came  a-snortin' 
and  a-sniffin'.  Ah  jumped  up  a  tree,  but  Ah  was  just 
a,  mite  too  late,  fur  bless  gracious  if  dat  hound  didn't 
take  d'  hull  seat  ov  ma  pants  at  a  bite,  an'  down  Ah 
come  wid  a  yell  what'd  wake  d'  dead!  Dat  houn'  hilt 
on  an'  d'  oder  one  get  a  grips  on  me  too,  an'  d'  boff  on 
'em  hilt  on  like  cockleburrs  on  an.'  ol'  hoss  till  Mister 
Barlan  come  an'  turn  me  loose!" 

"Didn't  they  bite  you,  Sam?" 

"D'  second  time  dey  chew  ma  legs  like  dey  was  sau 
sages!" 

The  topic  around  the  camp  during  dinner  hour  was 
the  escape  of  three  men  during  the  morning.  Franz 
was  one  of  them,  Mike  Trudics  another,  and  old  Jor- 
daneff,  the  Bulgarian,  the  third.  Ruden  discovered  that 
they  had  gone  in  different  directions,  which  meant  that 
probably  but  one  of  them  would  be  caught  that  day. 

The  discovery  that  the  water  used  at  the  camp  was 
taken  from  a  stagnant  pool  led  Ruden  to  follow  an  al 
most  dry  ditch  for  a  few  hundred  yards  through  the 
woods  in  search  of  a  drink  of  clean  water;  at  least,  as 
clean  as  the  Gulch  could  provide.  Sam  had  volun 
teered  to  watch  his  team  and  pull  it  to  one  side  when 
loaded.  He  expected  to  be  gone  but  a  few  minutes,  but 
kept  on  along  the  swampy  edge  of  the  ditch  until  he 
came  to  a  road.  He  knew  that  his  team  was  loaded  and 
ready,  but  the  fascination  of  the  road — a  long  avenue 
of  the  mightiest  pines — held  him  for  an  instant  in  a 
temptation  to  enjoy  a  walk  through  them.  In  that  in 
stant  he  heard  laughter,  and  then  a  scream  of  terror. 


66  THE  MAGYAR 

His  first  thought  was  Gallagher — then  of  a  hasty  re 
treat.  Life  to  these  bandits  of  the  forest  is  as  cheap  as 
lumber — and  of  less  consequence.  To  be  discovered 
there,  meant  abuse  and  maybe  more.  Another  cry ! 
This  time  it  struck  terror  to  his  very  soul  and  seemed 
to  freeze  the  blood  in  his  veins. 

"Jay!  Istenem!"  rang  through  the  pines.  It  was  an 
appeal  to  God  from  the  lips  of  a  Magyar.  The  emotions 
of  fear,  dread,  cowardice  and  courage  swept  over  one 
another  quicker  than  the  ticking  of  a  clock.  Around 
the  bend  of  the  road  there  was  a  problem.  It  might 
mean  his  life.  Should  he  risk  it?  AY  as  it  worth  while? 
To  die  like  a  dog  by  the  hand  of  a  dog  was  less  than 
life  demanded  of  him.  The  coward  prevailed  for  an 
instant — maybe  it  was  wisdom;  the  decision  was 
changed,  however,  as  quickly  as  made,  for  Gallagher's 
buggy  came  in  sight  at  a  fast  trot,  the  veterinary  be 
side  him,  and  at  the  end  of  a  rope,  poor  Franz. 

Rudeii  put  a  tree  between  him  and  the  scene.  Cold 
clammy  sweat  covered  his  face ;  his  legs  seemed  unable 
to  support  his  body.  AYithin  twenty  yards  the  buggy 
stopped — Fran/  had  fallen  and  was  being  choked  to 
death!  Like  an  enraged  panther  Ruden  sprang  to  the 
scene.  The  rope  was  tied  around  Franz's  neck,  his 
trousers  hung  in  bloody  ribbons  about  his  legs,  and  the 
work  of  the  hounds  was  evident  at  a  glance.  Ruden 
whipped  out  his  knife,  cut  the  rope  and  stood  Franz  on 
his  feet. 

' '  Damned  infernal  cowards,  both  of  you  ! "  he  shouted, 
as  he  glared  at  them  with  fire-lit  eyes. 

"Take  the  lines,  Brace!"  said  Gallagher,  as  he  threw 
them  aside  and  jumped  to  the  ground.  AVinding  the 
lash  of  his  whip  around  his  right  hand,  he  struck  at 
Ruden 's  head.  The  leaden  butt  rendered  powerless  the 


LAW  OF  THE  FOREST  WRIT  IN  LEAD       67 

left  arm  held  up  as  guard;  Ruden's  right  fist  shot  out 
and  caught  Gallagher  in  the  neck  beneath  the  chin, 
lifting  him  completely  off  his  feet  and  dropping  him  on 
his  hack. 

"Pot  th'  bastard — pot  him  Brace!"  he  yelled. 

Ruden  wrenched  the  whip  out  of  Gallagher's  hands, 
handed  it  to  Franz.  "Fight!"  he  said. 

Brace  stood  up  in  the  buggy  and  pointed  his  revolver. 

Gallagher  was  proud  of  the  way  he  could  trounce 
the  average  Jew  or  foreigner  that  came  to  the  camp, 
and  while  Brace  was  making  up  his  mind  to  shoot,  Gal 
lagher  made  a  second  rush  at  Ruden,  only  to  be  met 
with  a  right  hand  smash  to  the  jaw,  which  staggered 
him,  and  another  that  brought  him  to  his  haunches. 
I'p  to  this  time  he  had  either  forgotten  or  was  afraid  to 
use  his  own  gun.  Now,  chagrined  and  beaten,  he  drew 
and  fired.  The  ball  entered  Ruden's  breast  an  inch 
above  the  heart,  ploughed  its  way  through  the  body  and 
lodged  beneath  the  skin  of  his  back.  As  he  sprang  at 
the  bully,  another  ball  entered  his  wrist  and  tore  its 
way  up  his  arm  to  the  elbow.  He  got  Gallagher's  gun, 
but  too  late.  He  dropped  on  the  road  exhausted. 

Brace  covered  Franz,  who  was  so  panic-stricken  with 
fear  that  he  dropped  too ;  and  a  hurried  conference 
was  held  as  to  the  next  move. 

"If  I  could  trust  your  damned  mouth,  Brace,  I'd  fin 
ish  the  suckers  and  bury  'em  in  the  ditch!"  He  took 
the  whip  and  brought  the  squirming  fiery  lash  down 
on  Ruden's  stomach.  "Come  on,  you  d — d  Sheeney, 
or  I'll  finish  you!" 

Ruden  writhed  in  agony  on  the  road.  Gallagher 
went  over  to  Franz  and  drove  his  foot  into  his  ribs.  A 
lo\v  grunt  from  the  youth,  and  he  turned  over,  relaxed, 
as  if  in  death. 


68  THE  MAGYAR 

"For  Christ's  sake,  don't  murder  them!"  Brace  said. 

"Shut  up,  you  horse's  -  — !"  shouted  Gallagher,  as 
he  mounted  the  buggy  to  drive  away.  As  he  took  the 
reins  out  of  Brace's  hand,  a  farmer  drove  up. 

"Hello,"  he  said,  "what've  ye  got,   Teddy?" 

"Oh,  only  a  couple  of  Bowery  toughs  shootin'  up 
th'  camp!"  said  Gallagher. 

The  Magyars  were  lifted  into  the  farmer's  wagon 
and  driven  behind  Gallagher  to  the  camp.  They  were 
stretched  on  a  couple  of  mattresses  in  the  woodshed  at 
the  end  of  the  stable.  Dr.  Tremble,  the  physician  of 
the  lumber  camp,  was  sent  for.  He  extracted  two  balls 
from  Ruden  and  set  Franz's  ribs.  An  hour  after  their 
arrival,  Joe  Maginnis,  the  only  Irishman  in  the  camp, 
was  stretched  by  the  side  of  the  wounded,  stricken  with 
typhoid  fever. 

Ruden  counted  time  by  the  vibrations  of  pain  for  the 
rest  of  the  afternoon,  lie  could  hear  men  and  horses 
coining  and  going.  He  heard  every  comment  made  on 
the  capture  of  Franz.  After  the  doctor  left,  a  deputy 
sheriff  in  the  employ  of  the  company  brought  Orminsky 
back,  and  the  boy  who  had  escaped  Kishenev  and  the 
black  hundred,  was  tied  to  the  wheel  of  Gallagher's 
buggy  just  outside  the  woodshop  and  flogged  with  a 
horsewhip — big  Ollie,  the  teamster,  and  the  blacksmith 
standing  by  in  case  Archie,  "the  whipping  boss,"  needed 
their  assistance.  Forty  times  the  lash  descended ; 
forty  times  the  little  Russian  winced  and  twisted.  Af 
ter  the  thirtieth  stroke,  the  sound  changed.  There  wras 
no  more  cutting — the  whip  was  merely  burying  itself 
in  the  bloody  gutter  tracks  of  the  previous  strokes. 
AYlien  they  untied  his  wrists,  he  sank  on  his  knees.  The 
men  picked  him  iip  and  threw  him  into  a  corner  of  the 
woodshed  beyond  Maginnis.  He  turned  over  on  his 


LAW  OF  THE  FOREST  WRIT  IN  LEAD       69 

stomach  and  lay  there  groaning  until  Sam,  having  been 
relieved  of  his  horses,  came  there  in  search  of  Ruden. 

"Boss,"  Sam  said,  "you'd  a  better  done  gone  tuk 
dat  water  in  d'  swamp;  yo'  mout  a  hed  a  soh  belly,  but 
dat's  better 'n  bein'  a  basket  ob  lead!" 

"Have  they  caught  old  Jordaueff?"  Ruden  asked. 

"Yo'  mean  d'  ol'  Bulgary  man?  Yes — dey  sho  have. 
Mr.  Gallagher  hammer  'im  wid  d'  butt  ob  his  gun  till 
'e  turn  ober  like  a  dead  'possum!" 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Lyin'  ober  dar  'mong  d'  dead  wood.  Mr.  Gallagher 
sez — sez  'ee — 'Let  d'  ol'  sucker  lie  dar,'  sez  'ee — '  'ees 
fakin'!'  " 

Sam  had  taken  a  liking  to  Ruden,  and  in  addition  to 
his  own  work,  became  his  nurse.  After  supper  Ruden 's 
temperature  rose  rapidly,  and  Sam  not  knowing  what 
to  do,  sought  sympathy  and  help  wherever  he  could 
find  it. 

Shandor,  the  interpreter,  was  a  Hungarian.  He  en 
tered  the  camp  as  a  dish-washer,  but  later  entered  the 
office  as  a  clerk  and  acted  as  interpreter.  He  was  the 
scion  of  a  noble  Magyar  family  who  had  left  home  for 
his  country's  good,  and  after  several  weeks  in  the  New 
York  bread  line,  was  drafted  South  with  a  gang  of  la 
borers.  He  wa.s  persuaded  to  look  in  on  Ruden. 

"No  thank  you,"  Ruden  said  in  answer  to  his  ques 
tion;  "you  can  do  nothing  for  me — but  there's  Magin- 
nis  dying  of  typhoid  beside  me;  you  might  help  him!" 

"You  are  a  Magyar;  I  would  like  to  help  you!" 

"I  prefer  Gallagher's  help;  you  are  a  traitor  to  your 
race ! ' ' 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?" 

"You  have  gone  after  your  countrymen  with  blood 
hounds  and  guns,  and  you  have  stood  by  like  a  coward 


70  THE  MAGYAR 

when  they  were  flogged  like  galley  slaves  by  these 
brutes.  I  am  on  a  field  of  battle;  I'll  take  help  from 
the  enemy — not  from  a  traitor ! ' ' 

"You  can  go  to  hell,  then!"  said  the  interpreter,  as 
he  turned  to  the  Irishman. 

"Hello,  Joe,  how  are  you?" 

"Get  out!"  said  Joe,  "you're  a  damned  Dago;  send 
me  a  nigger  wid  a  dhrink  ov  wather,  an'  t'hell  wid 
yez!" 

Shandor  laughed  and  left  the  scene. 

Two  men  carried  Jordaneff  into  the  shed.  That  was 
the  only  remedy  the  doctor  offered  when  he  came. 

"Can  I  do  any  tiling  for  you?"  he  asked  Ruden. 

"If  you  were  a  physician,  you  might,"  answered 
Ruden. 

"You've  got  some  gall  for  a  dollar  a  day  Sheeney, 
hain't  ye?" 

"I'm  too  weak  to  talk  much,"  said  Ruden;  "but  let 
me  point  out  something  of  which  you  seem  oblivious. 
That  slimy  pool  where  we  get  our  drinking  water  con 
tains  not  only  slime,  but  the  excrements  of  men  and 
horses.  Five  men  have  been  killed  by  it,  and  the  sixth 
is  dying  beside  me.  You  can't  save  him — you  haven't 
the  skill.  Five  hundred  men  pay  iifty  cents  a  month 
here  for  medical  attendance,  which  consists  of  patent 
medicines  and  a  quack." 

"What's  doin'  on  th'  Bowery,  Doc?"  Gallagher 
broke  in. 

"This  Sheeney  needs  more  ov  your  medicine  nor 
mine ! ' '  Tremble  answered. 

' '  Why  th '  -    -  did  ye  take  my  pills  out  ov  'im,  then  ? ' ' 

Ruden  turned  over  exhausted.  As  soon  as  Sam  saw 
the  way  clear,  he  came  in  and  made  him  as  comfortable 
as  possible.  Franz  begged  for  a  light.  Sam  stuck  a 


LAW  OF  THE  FOREST  WRIT  IN  LEAD       71 

candle  on  a  stump  beside  him.  In  low  weak  whispers 
Ruden  told  Sam  to  make  a  cross  out  of  two  small  sticks 
and  give  it  to  Magiuuis.  It  was  a  crude  thing  made 
with  a  hatchet  on  a  chopping-block. 

Outside,  the  lumber-Jacks  sat  around  the  camp  fires, 
whites  around  one  pile  of  blazing  pine  knots,  and  the 
blacks  around  another.  The  whites  smoked,  chewed 
and  told  smutty  stories,  punctuated  with  empty  laugh 
ter.  The  blacks  sang  the  songs  of  a  slave  race:  they 
sang  of  liberty  and  associated  it  with  another  wrorld; 
they  sang  of  "home,"  but  it  was  away  off  beyond  the 
skies. 

Joe  Maginnis  gripped  tightly  the  hand  of  Sam  in 
gratitude,  and  muttered  feebly — "Hail  Mary,  Mother 
of  God."  Franz,  by  the  light  of  his  candle,  read  his 
"Meistershaftesbuch"  for  a  few  minutes;  then  he  ex 
tinguished  his  candle  and  went  to  sleep, — a  few  minutes 
later  Joe  Maginnis  said  his  last  "Hail  Mary,"  turned 
over  on  his  back,  and  died.  The  last  sounds  of  the 
night  came  from  the  negroes;  it  was  soothing  beyond 
words  to  the  pain-racked  body  of  Ruden: 

"Swing  low  sweet  chariot, 
Comin'  fur  t'  carrv  me  home." 


CHAPTER  IX 

"TILL  ONE  MAN  is  DEAD  OR  OUT" 

"PUT   that    Sheency    t'    work    t'day,"    Gallagher   told 
Archie  on  the  eighth  morning  after  the  shooting. 

"What  Sheeney?"  asked  Archie. 

"Th'  one  I  put  the  holes  in  t'other  day." 

"Gee — "  Archie  said,  in  a  tone  of  doubt,  "he'll  need 
galvanizing  first;  he  looks  like  a  ghost." 

"All  Sheenies  look  like  ghosts,  an'  some  of  'em 
Guineas  look  like  ghosts  wi'  th'  jaunders.  Give  'im  an 
axe  an'  pack  'im  off  t'  th'  drift!" 

Ruden  sat  on  a  log  by  the  stable  a  few  feet  from  the 
speakers.  He  arose,  put  his  hand  to  his  hip  pocket, 
and  produced  a  revolver. 

"Gallagher,"  he  said,  "when  we  arrived  here,  you 
told  us  that  the  Law  was  written  in  lead,  and  you  gave 
us  a  hint  that  you  both  made  and  executed  the  Laws. 
Now  since  I've  felt  the  force  of  what  you  told  us,  I 
have  provided  myself  with  a  little  Law  on  my  own  ac 
count." 

"Oh— that's  yer  game,  eh?" 

"Xo,  it's  yours — it's  your  language — -and  I've  been 
learning  to  speak  it  for  a  few  days ;  and  if  you  open  up 
a  conversation  in  that  tongue  again,  there'll  be  two 
talking  instead  of  one!" 

There  was  a  quiet  reserve  in  the  man — an  indefinable 
something  above  the  common  herd  that  Gallagher  and 
Archie  felt  as  they  scrutinized  him  with  mingled  emo 
tions. 

72 


"TILL  ONE  MAN  IS  DEAD  OR  OUT"        73 

"Hand  in  that  gun,  Sheeney,  before  supper,  or  we'll 
put  a  few  more  holes  in  yer  dirty  hide — see?" 

Ruden  folded  his  arms  and  watched  them.  It  was 
the  dinner  hour,  and  the  teamsters  lounged  around  the 
loose  timber  near  the  stable.  The  bosses  held  a  whis 
pered  conference  for  a,  moment,  then  the  voice  of  Archie 
rang  out : 

"Pull   'em  out,  boys!" 

There  was  a  commotion;  then  the  jingling  of  har 
ness  and  the  heavy  tread  of  horses'  feet  as  the  teams 
were  pulled  out  and  jogged  off  to  the  pine  drift  for  the 
afternoon.  It  was  ten  minutes  before  the  hour,  and 
Ruden  knew  that  there  was  something  in  the  air.  He 
sat  down  again  on  the  log  and  toyed  with  the  gun  that 
Sam  had  given  him.  He  had  made  a  mistake — lie  knew 
it  instantly;  but  there  was  no  help — he  could  not  re 
treat.  There  was  but  one  thing  to  do — leave  the  camp 
and  defy  detention ! 

Gallagher  secretly  cleared  the  camp,  cleared  it  of 
everybody  save  the  whipping  crew,  the  blacksmith, 
Ollie,  the  head  teamster,  Archie  arid  himself.  A  few 
minutes  after  the  horses  left,  Gallagher,  revolver  in 
hand,  advanced  at  a  rapid  pace  toward  Rudeu.  It  wras 
a  ruse!  Ruden  arose  and  faced  the  little  master.  As 
he  did  so,  he  was  seized  from  behind  in  the  iron  grip 
of  the  blacksmith.  Gallagher  wrenched  the  gun  out 
of  his  hand  and  struck  him  over  the  head  with  the  butt. 
He  dropped  to  his  knees — dazed. 

The  paradox  of  the  situation  was,  not  the  defiance 
of  Law  or  the  ignorance  of  it,  but  the  fact  that  apart 
from  the  business  of  denuding  the  forest,  all  these  men 
possessed  a  certain  human  kindness  found  in  all  men  if 
one  digs  deep  enough  to  find  it.  Gallagher  had  a  na 
ture  that  wasn't  wholly  brutal.  Out  of  the  woods  he 


74  THE  MAGYAR 

could  laugh;  he  could  stand  at  the  bar  with  a  lumber- 
Jack  as  a  comradeship  that  both  gave  and  took.  The 
blacksmith  and  Ollie  were  quiet,  stolid  men,  who  had 
no  particular  grudge  against  the  foreigners,  arriving 
daily.  Archie  was  kind-hearted  and  had  a  smile  as 
engaging  and  genuine  as  the  smile  of  a  schoolgirl.  In 
a  bunch,  then,  what  possessed  them? 

A  modern  deity  which,  perhaps,  at  the  very  moment 
that  Kuden  was  felled  like  an  ox  with  the  butt  end  of 
a  revolver,  was  walking  down  "Wall  Street  under  a  stove 
pipe  hat!  The  puppets  of  the  forest  are  ruled  from 
afar.  An  invisible  whip  held  in  a  hand  by  the  edge 
of  the  sea  stings  and  smarts  the  human  bodies  in  the 
bosom  of  the  densest  forest  of  the  sunny  South ! 

Ruden  staggered  to  his  feet  again,  pale  and  weak. 

"Tie  the  sucker  to  the  block  and  give  him  twenty!'' 
Gallagher  shouted,  and  his  men  obeyed.  A  rope  was 
brought  and  his  arms  were  bound  to  his  sides.  Archie 
shook  his  head  dubiously,  but  Gallagher  was  aroused — 
no  man  had  ever  dared  to  dispute  his  sovereignty  of 
the  woods.  Men  had  cried  for  mercy,  others  had  prom 
ised  obedience ;  this  was  a  new  type,  and  like  a  medie 
val  monarch,  Gallagher  determined  to  put  the  screws  on 
and  watch  the  result.  Ruden 's  silence  irritated  him. 
Other  men  argued,  swore,  threatened.  He  liked  that — 
he  was  witty  and  enjoyed  repartee. 

"Go  on,  Archie!"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "soak  'im!" 
Ollie  handed  his  cowhide  to  the  "whipping  boss,"  and 
he  brought  it  down  on  his  victim's  back  with  all  the 
force  of  his  arm. 

"Come  on,  Archie,  come  on — make  the  pig  squeal!" 
Gallagher  yelled ;  but  somehow  the  power  had  gone  out 
of  Archie's  arm.  He  stood  a  minute,  then  looked  at 
Gallagher  who  was  livid  with  rage. 


"TILL  ONE  MAN  IS  DEAD  OR  OUT"        75 

"This  fellow's  half  dead,  Teddy— he'll  drop!" 

"Gettin'   chicken-hearted  yerself,    eh?" 

Archie's  eyes  flashed. 

"Like  to  hev  a  turn  yerself?"  he  asked  Gallagher. 

"Go  on — I  tell  you!"  Gallagher  shouted  at  the  top 
of  his  voice. 

"T'  hell  wi'  yer  nigger  drivin'!"  said  Archie,  as  he 
Hang  the  cowhide  into  a  corner,  "I'll  whip  a  lazy 
man,  but  this  ain't  no  lazy  man;  he's  a  damned  sight 
better  man  than  you  are!" 

Gallagher  lost  control.  He  lunged  at  Archie,  missed 
him  and  lunged  again.  They  clinched  and  fought  like 
demons  at  short  distance.  They  stumbled  and  fell,  but 
they  were  smashing  each  other  as  they  rolled  over  and 
over.  They  were  both  desperate  men  and  were  infuri 
ated. 

Ruden  was  so  weak  that  he  would  have  dropped,  but 
the  rope  supported  him.  Sam  suddenly  appeared  and 
ran  his  knife  through  the  ropes,  dropping  Kuden  to 
the  ground,  where  he  lay  exhausted.  Then  he  directed 
his  attention  to  the  men  on  the  ground.  Both  men 
fumbled  for  guns.  Sam's  eyes  rolled,  his  mouth  was 
wide  open. 

"Ah '11  be  God  blest  if  dey  ain't  g'wine  t'  shoot!"  he 
said  with  a  grin. 

Ollie  and  the  blacksmith  seized  a  man  each  and 
dragged  them  apart.  Gallagher's  face  was  covered  with 
blood.  He  had  gotten  the  worst  of  it  and  was  panting 
for  breath.  The  night  watchman,  asleep  in  his  hut,  had 
been  aroused  by  the  shouting  and  was  quickly  on  the 
ground.  He  left  and  reappeared  a  few  minutes  later 
with  a  bottle  of  whisky  for  Gallagher. 

"Gallagher —  '  said  Archie,  "before  I  leave  this 
camp,  I'll  knock  the  -  -  out  of  you!" 


76  THE  MAGYAR 

"You'll  leave  the  camp  all  right —  '  Gallagher  said, 
"and  I'll  give  you  a  chance  to  do  the  other;  put  up 
your  gun." 

"Put  up  yours!" 

Each  man  handed  his  gun  to  the  man  by  his  side. 

"Knives,  too!"  said  Archie — and  the  knives  were 
handed  over. 

"Now  let's  strip  and  finish  it!"  Archie  said. 

Ruden  sat  up — leaned  against  a  log,  and  watched  the 
proceedings. 

"When  dey  wade  inter  each  oder,  boss,"  Sam  whis 
pered,  "take  a  sneak;  here's  anoder  gun  t'  keep  d' 
mosquitoes  away  ! ' ' 

The  men  stripped  naked  to  the  waist.  Ollie  stood 
behind  Gallagher,  and  the  blacksmith  seconded  Archie. 
The  news  had  reached  the  drift,  and  before  they  began, 
fifty  men  stood  around  the  fighters.  Ruden  was  utterly 
forgotten.  Work  was  at  a  standstill.  The  crowd  was 
beside  itself  with  glee.  Not  a  man  in  the  camp  had 
any  particular  love  for  either.  Most  of  the  men  hated 
both. 

"Two  minute  rounds?"  asked  Ollie. 

"Two  minute— hell!"  Gallagher  shouted.  "This  is 
a  fight  to  the  death — rough  and  tumble  till  one  man  is 
dead  or  out!" 

At  it  they  went — hammer  and  tongs — "thud — smash 
-thud!" 

Ruden  moved  away,  slowly  at  first,  but  as  he  entered 
the  pines,  he  gathered  all  his  strength  and  moved  as  rap 
idly  as  it  would  allow  him.  When  half  a  mile  away, 
he  could  hear  the  yells  of  the  crowd.  They  grew  fainter 
and  fainter;  and  then  he  was  alone  in  the  gloom  of  the 
forest  road.  The  sound  of  wheels  behind  startled  him. 
He  trembled  with  fear.  Like  a  hunted  animal  he  shot 


"TILL  ONE  MAN  IS  DEAD  OR  OUT"        77 

into  the  woods  and  watched  the  vehicle  pass.  It  was  a 
farmer,  and  he  might  have  had  a  lift  by  the  way  if  he 
had  kept  his  course.  lie  stopped  for  a  minute  and  ex 
amined  the  second  gun  Sam  had  given  him.  Every 
chamber  was  full.  He  re-entered  the  road  and  walked 
another  mile.  He  had  almost  reached  his  limit,  when 
another  sound  of  wheels  was  heard.  This  time  he 
walked  on  as  if  he  were  unconcerned.  As  the  buggy 
passed  him,  he  called  to  the  driver  and  asked  for  a  lift. 
It  was  Justice  Johnson,  the  notary  public,  employed  by 
the  Blockheart  Lumber  Company  to  try  its  cases. 
Ruden  had  seen  him  in  camp,  and  knew  him. 

"Ain't  ye  one  o'  them  Sheenies  at  the  camp?"  old 
Johnson  asked. 

' '  Yes, ' '  Ruden  said — ' '  I  have  been  up  there,  but  I  Ve 
been  under  the  doctor's  care  for  some  time  and  am 
completely  knocked  out." 

"Ye  luk  it,"  Johnson  said  dryly.  "Did  ye  say  good 
bye  t'  Teddy?" 

"No,  I  didn't,"  Ruden  said,  "he  was  a  mighty  bus}' 
man  when  I  left ! ' ' 

"Got  a  receipt  fur  yer  fare  down?"  asked  the  Judge, 
as  he  changed  the  tobacco  ball  from  one  jaw  to  the  other. 

"No — I  haven't.  As  I  tell  you,  I've  been  very  ill 
ever  since  I  came." 

"Ah  reckon  as  we'd  better  go  back  an'  say  good-bye 
t'  Teddy,"  he  said,  as  he  pulled  up  the  old  horse.  The 
Judge  saw  a  ten  dollar  fee  for  the  capture  and  his 
court  fee  besides,  and  he  wasn't  a  man  to  let  business 
go  begging  in  that  kind  of  a  way,  especially  when  his 
only  excuse  for  the  journey  to  town  was  to  file  some  pa 
pers  at  the  county  seat — a  trifle  he  could  attend  to  any 
day. 

"I  shall  have  to  part  company  with  you,  Judge!" 


78  THE  .MAGYAR 

"Stay  right  whar  ye  sit,"  Johnson  said. 

Ruden  got  out  of  the  buggy.  Johnson  pulled  his  gun 
and  pointed  it  at  Ruden. 

"Ye  kin  go  back  alive  or  dead — jest  as  ye  hev  a 
mind!" 

Ruden  entered  the  buggy  again  and  as  the  old  man 
was  fumbling  with  the  reins,  he  seized  the  revolver  and 
twisted  it  out  of  his  hand;  then  he  got  out  and  entered 
the  woods,  watching  the  old  Judge  from  behind  a  tree. 
lie  turned  the  horse  toward  the  camp,  and  drove  back 
at  full  gallop. 

Ruden  had  one  hope  left — a  farm  house — so  he  quick 
ened  his  pace.  In  half  an  hour  he  was  out  of  the  woods, 
in  an  open  country.  The  road  was  on  the  side  of  a  hill, 
and  about  a  mile  off  down  the  valley,  he  ,sa\v  a  clump  of 
trees  and  a  red  barn.  lie  left  the  road  and  headed  for 
the  place. 

"Madam,"  Ruden  said  to  the  woman  who  came  to  the 
door,  "in  the  name  of  Christ,  I  ask  permission  to  lie 
down  and  rest — I  can  go  no  further!" 

"Ain't  ye  one  o'  them  New  York  Jews  what's  rnak- 
in'  so  much  trouble  at  th'  camp  up  there?" 

"No,  I'm  not  a  Jew — I'm  not  a  trouble-maker;  but 
even  if  I  were,  wouldn't  .you,  for  the  sake  of  Christ,  let 
me  lie  down  in  your  barn  and  rest?"  he  said. 

"AVe're  Baptises—"  she  said,  "  'hard  shell,'  as  they 
call  us,  but  the  Blockheart  people  give  us  a  load  o'  lum 
ber  oiict  in  a  while  and  us  kin't  afford  t'  keep  a  hotel 
t'  harbor  them  loafers  what  robs  the  company." 

"I  suppose,"  Ruden  said  in  a  soft  tone,  "that  for 
that  occasional  load  of  lumber  they  rather  expect  you 
to  keep  a  watch  for  travelers;  is  that  it?" 

"Ah  reckon  that's  jest  about  th'  size  o'  it." 

"I  was  going  to  ask  you  for  a  cup  of  water,  but  as  I. 


"TILL  ONE  MAN  IS  DEAD  OR  OUT"        79 

have  not  been  baptised  by  immersion,  I  suppose  that 
also  would  be  against  your  principles!" 

"Well,  it's  jest  as  I  was  sayin';  th'  company's 
mighty  good  t'  us  small  holders  here,  an'  we  kin't  af 
ford  t'  disobleege  thim.  That's  jest  how  th'  thing 
stands;  Baptises  or  no  Baptises,  neighbors  is  neigh 
bors!" 

"Good  day,"  he  said,  as  he  shuffled  away  from  the 
door. 

A  few  hundred  yards  from  the  house  was  another 
road,  and  along  the  road,  within  a  few  minutes'  walk, 
<fi  house.  lie  repeated  his  question  and  had  a  better  re 
ception.  His  eyes  were  sunken  and  the  deathlike  pal 
lor  on  his  thin  face  was  quickly  observed  by  the  woman 
of  the  house. 

"I  have  one  here  already,"  she  said,  "but  you  look 
dead — come  in." 

As  he  entered,  he  saw  a  figure  crouching  by  a  win 
dow  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  reading.  Another  in 
stant  and  the  arms  of  the  figure  were  around  Ruden's 
neck. 

"Szerusz  Baratom!"  It  was  Franz  who  had  also 
taken  advantage  of  the  fight  to  escape.  Tired  out,  he 
begged  for  rest,  and  was  now  perusing  his  "Vade 
Mecum" — his  Meistershaftesbuch  ! 

"Where's  your  baggage,  Franz?"  Ruden  asked. 

He  clapped  his  hand  on  an  inside  pocket — "Das  ist 
a  lies!"  It  contained  his  diplomas! 

The  woman  watched  the  comrades  with  great  inter 
est,  but  kept  an  anxious  lookout  for  her  husband,  whom 
she  expected  at  any  moment.  Ruden  relieved  her  by 
saying : 

"We  hope  to  reach  Pensacola  to-morrow  morning,  so 
just  as  soon  ;is  \vc  are  a  little  rested,  we  will  move  on." 


80  THE  MAGYAR 

"When  the  husband  arrived,  he  looked  the  strangers 
over  suspiciously. 

"Ain't  you  the  Jew  what  was  caught  be  th'  Block- 
heart  hounds  t'other  day?" 

Ruden  answered  for  Franz — "Yes — "  he  said,  "this 
boy  had  a  contract  with  them,  and  they  broke  it." 

"Contrack?"  the  man  said  in  surprise.  "White 
men  hev  no  contracks;  it's  niggers  what  hev  'em  down 
here,  an'  they  ain't  no  damned  good  fur  niggers, 
nuther ! ' ' 

Ruden  offered  to  pay  for  supper,  but  the  man  shook 
his  head. 

"Xo,"  he  said,  "us  kin't  swell  th'  chorus  in  no 
church;  us  ain't  what  ye'd  call  Christians  eggsactly, 
but  t'  take  money  from  a  man  in  trouble  for  a  mouth 
ful  o'  vituals  wild  be  some 'at  like  takin'  pennies  frum 
a  blind  man!" 

There  was  a  quality  in  Rudcn's  voice  that  held  these 
white  crackers  awe-struck.  It  was  a  voice  full  of 
pathos  at  times, — at  others,  it  was  musical;  but  at  this 
particular  time  it  was  full  of  tears. 

The  supper  of  corn  pone,  molasses  and  goat's  milk 
was  a  luxury  to  the  Magyars.  When  the  things  were 
cleared  away,  Ruden  said : 

"Good  friends,  we  may  have  an  opportunity  some 
day  to  show  you  how  grateful  we  are  for  your  kind 
ness  to  us;  but  before  we  go,  I  would  like  to  say  a  word 
or  two  on  a  subject  you  brought  up  just  now.  You 
said  you  did  not  belong  to  a  church — but  you  do! 
You  are  both  members  of  the  church  that  Jesus  or 
ganized  when  he  said,  'Other  sheep  have  I  which  are 
not  of  this  fold/  I  am  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  and 
in  the  name  of  Christ,  I  pronounce  you  both  members 
of  the  Church  Universal — of  the  Church  of  the  Deed." 


"TILL  ONE  MAN  IS  DEAD  OR  OUT"        81 

At  the  announcement,  the  three  people  stood  on  their 
feet  and  bowed  their  heads.  Ruden  also  arose,  and 
continued — "To  the  head  of  that  Church,  let  us  pray!" 
All  four  knelt  on  the  rough  pine  boards — but  the 
prayer  of  dedication  was  drowned  in  the  yelping  of 
dogs.  The  old  man  quietly  arose,  took  down  his  shot 
gun,  and  peeped  through  a  crack  of  the  door. 

"Sorry  t'  shet  off  th'  only  prayers  ever  bin  spoke 
in  this  ranch,  stranger,"  he  said  quietly,  "but  the 
bloodhouns  arc  at  th'  door!" 

It  was  not  yet  dark  and  Ruden  could  see  the  men 
behind  the  hounds.  There  were  three  of  them,  and  as 
his  first  thought  was  for  the  house  that  sheltered  him, 
he  said: 

"Friend,  sit  down  here  with  your  wife,  and  we  will 
do  the  rest." 

The  man  obeyed,  and  Ruden  and  Franz  surrendered 
themselves  to  Deputy  Sheriff  Moniky  and  his  posse. 

"The  blessing  of  God  to  you,"  he  said,  as  he  kissed 
their  hands  in  farewell. 


CHAPTER    X 

THE   UNDERWORLD    OF    THE    STOCKADE 

THE  trial  of  Ruden  in  a  District  Court  of  Southern 
Alabama  was  one  of  the  most  spectacular  legal  pro 
ceedings  ever  seen  in  the  South.  The  accused  was  his 
own  lawyer  and  proved  to  the  crowded  courtroom  that 
he  had  no  fool  for  a  client.  His  cross-examination  of 
witnesses  lasted  two  days.  It  was  thorough  and  aston 
ished  the  legal  talent.  In  his  summing  up  he  spoke 
for  three  hours.  The  "Turpentine  Bunch,"  as  the  in 
terests  were  called,  controlled  the  court,  selected  the 
jury,  and  before  the  case  was  called,  had  decided  on  a 
sentence.  It  was  a  waste  of  time  for  the  jury  to  retire. 
They  were  out  twelve  minutes.  It  took  that  time  to 
call  the  roll  and  cast  a  single  ballot. 

"There  undoubtedly  have  been  circumstances  of  a 
most  provoking  nature,"  the  judge  said,  in  pronounc 
ing  sentence,  "but  the  law  of  the  land  must  be  main 
tained.  I  sentence  you  to  a  year  and  a  day  in  the  State 
Penitentiary  at  Bratt  City,  and  I  hope  the  lesson  will 
not  be  lost  on  the  irresponsible  laborers  who  come  here 
to  earn  a  living." 

"Your  honor,"  said  Ruden,  "I  will  see  that  the  les 
son  is  not  lost.  I  go  as  a  galley-slave,  not  to  punish 
ment  for  a  crime,  but  as  a  cog  in  your  wheel  of  pro 
duction  in  the  South.  I  am  going  to  a  mine  to  dig 
coal  and  swell  the  fortune  of  some  vulgar  parasite;  but 
if  you  will  pardon  the  suggestion  as  I  leave  the  Court 
— I  have  to-day  fired  the  first  shot  in  a  campaign  that 

82 


THE  UNDERWORLD  OF  THE  STOCKADE     83 

will  never  end  until  every  white  slave  in  the  South  has 
the  shackles  torn  from  his  limbs  ! ' '  lie  wheeled  around 
and  pointed  his  finger  at  the  United  States  Commis 
sioner.  "Mr.  Marsh,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  gentleman 
—you  have  a  soul  and  a  conscience.  I  charge  you  in 
the  name  of  God  and  of  the  people  of  the  United  States 
to  use  your  prerogative  to  stamp  out  peonage — the 
white  slavery  of  the  Twentieth  Century;  to  stamp  it 
out  in  your  district,  where  it  flourishes  in  its  most  ag 
gravated  form!" 

He  could  have  talked  an  hour.  The  court  was  in 
tensely  interested,  and  when  he  finished,  said: 

"I  think  it  unfortunate  that  such  an  intellect  should 
fester  in  the  stripes  of  a  convict." 

Bratt  City  is  a  little  town  of  old  whitewashed  shacks 
surrounded  by  a  board  fence  ten  feet  high,  and  guarded 
by  armed  guards  who  live  night  and  day  in  square  sen 
try  boxes  built  on  the  fence  in  such  a  position  as  to 
command  a  view  of  the  entire  enclosure.  In  the  center, 
surrounded  by  a  screen  of  wooden  fretwork,  is  the 
mouth  of  the  mine  in  which  the  inhabitants  spend  their 
days.  In  a  corner  at  the  east  end  stands  the  little  hos 
pital,  and  near  it,  the  kennel  of  the  bloodhounds.  Out 
side  the  fence  stood  immense  dark  culm  heaps  tower 
ing  above  the  buildings,  and  beside  them  the  machinery, 
with  the  tall  black  chimney  overtopping  all.  Nothing 
more  dismal  could  be  imagined.  There  was  a  popula 
tion  of  one  thousand,  two  hundred  of  whom  were  whites; 
the  rest  wrere  blacks  and  women.  Each  group  quar 
tered  separately.  The  shack  which  quartered  the  \vhito 
men  was  called,  "cell  number  one" — by  the  inmates — 
simply  as  "one."  "Nigger  cell"  designated  the  homo 
of  the  blacks,  and  "woman's  place"  the  cell  of  the 


84  THE  MAGYAR 

score  or  more  of  women,  white  and  black.  Each  de 
partment  branched  off  from  a  central  point  where  the 
guards  and  deputies  lounged  and  where  the  warden's 
office  commanded  a  view  of  the  entrance  to  each  cell. 
Although  the  office  occupied  but  a  small  corner,  the 
entire  place  was  called  "the  office." 

The  name — "Bratt  City" — satisfied  the  inhabitants 
of  the  straggling  houses  outside,  but  the  place  was 
known  as  "the  stockade."  Handcuffed  to  a  murderer, 
Ruden  was  led  from  the  railroad  station  to  the  stock 
ade. 

"Twenty  an'  a  one — hey — that's  all,  is  it?"  ex 
claimed  the  warden,  as  they  were  led  into  the  office. 
"Take  'em  over  to  Doc.  an'  bring  'em  back,"  he  said 
to  a  deputy. 

"First-class —  '  said  the  medical  man,  as  they  stood 
in  front  of  him,  "first-class  both!"  he  repeated;  and 
they  were  taken  back  to  have  a  clerk  take  their  pedi 
grees  and  fit  them  out  in  stripes. 

Ruden  wasn't  "fitted"  with  stripes;  he  was  handed 
a  striped  suit  and  told  to  "git  into  'em."  Then  he 
was  escorted  to  "one."  The  convicts  were  still  in  the 
mine  and  the  big  barnlike  room  was  empty.  On  each 
side  were  cots  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  twenty-five 
on  a  side,  and  made  to  accommodate  two  each.  About 
six  p.  M.  the  mine  disgorged  its  human  misery;  and  as 
each  man  came  in,  he  had  a  look  at  the  newcomers. 

"Hello,  Cap!"  one  man  said,  "sorry  to  see  yer. " 

"Sorry,  too,  ain't  ye!"  said  the  man  close  behind  the 
speaker.  A  tall,  lithe  Southerner  stopped  for  a  mo 
ment  and  looked  him  over. 

"Hello,  professor,"  he  said,  "new  line  for  you — 
so?" 

"Yes— very  nc\v, "  Ruden  replied,  languidly. 


THE  UNDERWORLD  OF  THE  STOCKADE     85 

They  had  come  through  the  washroom  on  the  way 
to  "one,"  but  they  were  still  black  with  coal  dust. 
One  striped  suit — his  own — deepened  the  furrows  on 
his  forehead;  a  mass  of  them  hurt  his  mind! 

A  long  bar  of  iron  suspended  from  the  office  ceiling, 
when  struck  with  a  hickory  stick,  called  the  men  to 
supper.  The  sound  startled  Ruden — penetrated  his 
being  like  the  sting  of  an  asp.  The  men  rushed  to  the 
door  and  awaited  the  opening  by  an  invisible  hand.  A 
few  remained — he  discovered  later  that  they  were  too 
tired  to  eat  and  had  the  privilege  to  abstain.  In  fif 
teen  minutes  they  were  back ;  then  a  crowd  gathered 
around  Ruden  and  the  murderer,  and  started  an  in 
quiry. 

"Yank,  ain't  ye?"  one  asked  Ruden. 

"American,"  he  answered. 

"Born  in  this  country?" 

"Yes,  but  I  was  born  of  foreign  parents,"  Ruden 
added.  "How  long  does  the  light  burn?"  he  asked, 
as  he  looked  toward  the  dim  electric  bulb  in  the  center 
of  the  room. 

"Till  nine." 

They  asked  what  he  had  committed,  and  when  he  told 
them,  they  laughed  and  swore,  and  called  it  a  "nig 
ger's  crime."  Nine-tenths  of  the  white  men  in  "one" 
were  from  the  South,  and  every  man  in  the  place  had 
a  soubriquet.  A  dull  leaden  sensation  gripped  Ruden. 
At  times  he  perspired — then  he  shivered  as  if  in  a  chill. 
The  sights,  the  sounds,  the  laughter — all  racked  his 
nerves.  It  was  as  if  a  rough  hand  had  torn  away  the 
trings  of  a  finely  tuned  harp. 

The  man  to  whom  he  had  been  manacled  most  of  the 
day  was  his  bed-fellow.  He  was  a  man  about  forty- 
five,  with  a  strong,  quiet  face,  who  watched  the  pro- 


86  THE  MAGYAR 

ceedings  with  indifference,  and  answered  questions 
by  a  nod  or  a  wave  of  the  hand.  He  was  of  more  in 
terest  because  of  the  nature  of  his  crime;  but  the  men, 
finding  him  silent  and  often  morose,  took  little  pains  to 
draw  him  out. 

About  half-past  eight  most  of  the  men  were  in  bed. 
Two  lingered  by  the  table  under  the  bulb  for  a  while. 
When  they  shuffled  off  to  their  corner,  the  door  deputy 
entered.  Of  all  the  sounds  Ruden  had  heard,  none 
smote  him  with  such  pain  as  the  clanking  of  chains  as 
the  deputy  manacled  a  dozen  men  to  the  wall  by  the 
ankles.  It  was  special  treatment  for  a  special  class. 
The  chains  dangled  against  the  wall  beside  every  bed. 
Ruden  and  his  companion  were  moved  by  the  same  im 
pulse  at  the  same  time  to  examine  theirs — and  a  cold 
shiver  ran  through  them  both  as  they  saw  a  probable 
situation  for  themselves.  A  few  men  on  the  cots  near 
est  the  lights,  a  coveted  situation,  read;  one,  an  old 
magazine,  and  the  other — a  bundle  of  old  letters.  They 
lay  on  the  cot  next  to  Ruden 's.  From  the  cot  to  the 
window,  they  had  extemporized  a  clothesline — a  piece 
of  string  on  which  was  pinned  two  handkerchiefs. 
Between  the  handkerchiefs,  there  was  a  space  of  three 
inches.  The  man  reading  the  old  letters  tied  them  in  a 
bundle  and  stuffed  them  beneath  his  mattress.  The 
magazine  dropped  to  the  floor.  Ruden  lay  on  his  side 
watching  the  men. 

"Say — "  said  the  man  of  the  magazine,  "see  that 
fly?" 

"Where?" 

"Between  th'  nose  rags!" 

"Yep." 

"See  th'  'skeeter'  beside   Jim?" 

"Yep." 


THE  UNDERWORLD  OF  THE  STOCKADE     87 

"Ah '11  bet  ye  a  ton  o'  coal  th'  fly  gits  a  move  on 
fust!" 

"Ah'm  on,"  said  the  man  of  the  letters. 

The  black  house-fly  paraded  back  and  forth  on  his 
nd  of  the  space.  He  circled  the  string — the  mosquito 
Allowed  suit.  Ruden  was  engrossed.  He  watched  the 
clothesline  intently  for  a  minute  or  two  with  such  in- 
erest  that  his  mind  flitted  from  the  fly  and  the  mos 
quito  to  the  boulder  at  Brook  Farm.  The  fly  advanced 
into  the  mosquito's  territory,  and  the  mosquito  backed 
up  on  the  edge  of  the  handkerchief.  Ruden  felt  a 
,varm  glow  sweep  through  his  body — in  the  kingdom  of 
lis  mind  came  a  comrade  whose  face  had  followed  him 
;hrough  every  exigency  since  the  night  he  left  the  farm 
ror  the  labor  fields  of  the  South.  The  fly  returned  to 
lis  original  position,  and  the  mosquito  timidly  fol- 
.o\ved  at  a  distance.  The  light  went  out. 

""When  do  we  cash  in!"  asked  the  magazine  man. 

"  'Lone  Star,'  :  —said  the  bundle  of  letters  man, 
'Ah'm  at  yer  mercy,  but  Ah '11  trust  ye;  Ah  left  th' 
nose  rags  an'  th'  fly  some  time  ago.  Ah  don't  know 
which  or  who  made  th'  fust  break." 

' '  Damned  ef  Ah  know  nuther  ! ' '  said  ' '  Lone  Star. ' ' 

"Then  it's  a  draw!" 

"Call  it  a  tic!" 

"  '  Kentuck, '  "  said  "Lone  Star,"  "Ah '11  swap  memo 
ries  wi '  ye !  What  trail  did  ye  hit  when  ye  left  the 
clothesline?" 

"Waal,  it  were  a  long  trail — 'Lone  Star' — a  long 
trail  leadin'  to  m'  home  place — a  bit  of  a  village  called 
Arden — Ah  jest  meandered  down  there  in  m'  mind  t' 
5ee  the  folks." 

"Anyone  sort  of  special?"  asked  the  listener. 

"Not    thar,"    said    "Kentuck"— "but    on    the    next 


88  THE  MAGYAR 

trip  there  wuz — she  was — waal,  Ah  reckon  Ah '11  quit. 
Whar  did  you  go,  'Lone  Star?'  : 

"Yer  not  on  th'  level,  'Kentuck';  ye  quit  th'  trail 
when  the  game's  in  .sight.  Go  on,  mate,  ye've  given 
th'  introduction — give's  the  story  now!  Ye  wont  go 
on?" 

"If  ye  hold  th'  scent  till  Sunday,  Ah '11  tote  ye  along 
an'  introduce  ye." 

"Waal,"  said  "Lone  Star,"  "mine  was  a  pig  trail 
compared  t'  yourn.  It  led  me  down  through  the  tall 
dog  fennel  t'  Montgomery  County  whar  we  lived  whin 
th'  trouble  arrived." 

""What'd  ye  do  whin  ye  got  that?" 

"Same  as  you — Ah  visited  the  folks." 

"Anyone  special?" 

"Yep." 

"An  ol'  flame,  eh?" 

"No,  m'  little  gal — she  wuz  three  whin  her  mother 
died — that  wuz  whin  Ah  come  here — seventeen  year 
agone." 

"Who  keeps  yer  gal?" 

"Her  granny." 

"Kentuck"  gave  a  long  sigh.  Ruden  was  on  the 
point  of  an  interjection  when  "Lone  Star"  said: 

"Something  lies  gone  wrong  down  there — every  time 
Ah  open  the  bundle,  her  last  letter  drops  out  or  is  on 

top.  Ah  feel  mighty  d d  desperate  t'  hev  a  real 

look  in  some  time  ! ' ' 

The  light  was  turned  on  and  the  heavy  tread  of  the 
warden  was  heard  marching  along  the  center  of  the 
cell. 

"  'Kentuck,'  "  he  said,  "git  out  here!" 

"Kentuck"  and  "Lone  Star"  were  on  the  floor  in 
stantly. 


THE  UNDERWORLD  OF  THE  STOCKADE     89 

"Colonel—"  said  "Lone  Star,"  "Ah'm  th'  trans 
gressor  this  time.  Ah  chewed  th'  rag  t'  'Ken tuck' 
ever  since  th'  douse  o'  th'  glim!  Ah '11  take  whatever 's 
comin' !" 

The  warden  was  a  tall,  slim  man,  with  large  nose, 
a  weak,  purple-lipped  mouth  and  the  eyes  of  a  mouse. 
He  eyed  the  men  as  they  stood  before  him.  Every 
man  in  "one"  was  watching  the  proceedings. 

"He's  a  liar!"  said  "Kentuck."  "Give  me  what's 
comin' — it's  up  t'  me." 

"String  up  'Lone  Star'!"  the  warden  said  to  his 
deputy.  The  cuffs  were  attached  to  his  wrists,  and 
he  was  tied  to  an  iron  ring  in  the  center  of  the  ceiling, 
his  hands  above  his  head. 

The  light  went  out  again,  all  was  quiet — quiet  as  the 
grave,  save  an  occasional  sigh  from  the  sleepless  or  those 
in  pain. 

Ruden  couldn't  sleep.  He  was  in  mental  agony 
throughout  the  night — the  night  that  seemed  a  week  to 
him.  About  an  hour  after  the  stringing  up  of  "Lone 
Star,"  "Kentuck"  crept  over  to  his  mate,  stealthily  as 
a  cat  and  with  the  strength  of  a  lion,  he  picked  up  the 
table  and  placed  it  beside  the  man  in  pain.  "Lone 
Star"  got  on  top  and  rested.  "Kentuck"  stretched 
himself  on  it  and  went  to  sleep,  but  before  the  first 
streak  of  dawn  or  the  first  footfall  of  the  deputies,  the 
table  was  cleared  away  again,  and  "Lone  Star"  hung 
limp  and  exhausted  from  what  the  convicts  called  "the 
bull  ring." 

At  half-past  four  a  deputy  in  each  department 
aroused  the  community — aroused  it  to  work.  Ruden 
joined  the  march  to  the  dining-room  for  the  first  time. 
Hogs  in  Alabama  are  like  turnips  in  Scotland — they 
are  held  in  common.  Hogs  run  wild,  and  all  one  has 


90  THE  MAGYAR 

to  do  is  to  go  out  into  the  tall  dog  fennel  and  help 
himself.  Pork  and  beans,  therefore,  are  the  staple 
diets  of  all  penitentiaries  and  stockades.  There  were 
two  meals  a  day  at  Bratt  City.  They  consisted  of 
bread,  beans  and  pork.  On  Sunday  there  was  a  change 
of  meat. 

Ruden  could  not  eat,  but  he  took  part  of  the  meal  to 
the  mine,  as  did  others.  The  striped  suit  felt  like  a 
garment  of  woven  wire  as  he  brushed  it  against  the  men 
in  line.  They  went  in  squads — black  squads  and 
white.  At  every  turn,  every  corner,  every  change — 
stood  the  armed  guards,  white  men  all,  with  the  slouch 
hat  and  the  slouching  gait — crackers — "white  trash," 
who  were  content  with  small  pay  and  the  mental  stim 
ulus  to  their  jaded  lives  that  the  handling  of  a  shot 
gun  gave  them.  The  striped  procession  crowded  into 
the  mine  head.  Then  the  "skip,"  an  iron  cage  on 
wheels  was  ready,  and  Ruden  squeezed  between  two  ne 
groes  went  in  the  first  load. 

Down,  down  the  dark  shaft  of  the  mine  jerked  and 
bumped  the  "skip"  with  its  human  cargo.  The  shaft 
was  pitch  dark  save  as  the  tiny  lamp  on  each  man's 
forehead  lit  it  up  in  passing.  Ruden  looked  behind 
for  a  moment  and  saw  the  faint  light  at  the  mine  head. 
What  a  crowd  of  thoughts  rushed  madly  through  his 
brain  as  he  watched  it !  Dimmer  and  smaller  it  be 
came  as  the  "skip"  went  down,  and  fainter  and  fainter 
the  sound  of  the  machinery  at  the  starting  point. 
The  "skip"  stopped  at  a  pocket  of  the  shaft,  and  un 
loaded.  Ruden  saw  the  men  move  silently  to  their 
places.  They  looked  like  fireflies  in  the  black  mist,  for 
only  the  flickering,  smoky  lamps  could  be  seen  a  few 
yards  away.  An  invisible  power  moved  the  skip.  It 
began  the  ascent  for  its  second  load. 


THE  UNDERWORLD  OF  THE  STOCKADE     91 

"D'ye  know  what  yer  up  agin'?"  asked  a  "slope 
boss." 

"No,"  Ruden  said,  as  he  pointed  to  the  murderer, 
"we've  just  arrived." 

"Fust  class— ain't  ye?" 

"Yes;  that's  what  the  doctor  said." 

The  boss  grinned  and  said,  "Ye  pull  out  five  tons  a 
day  an'  git  it  up  thar  or  hev  yer  hide  tanned-,  that's 
what  fust  class  means!" 

' '  Pike  ! "  he  roared,  and  a  deputy  answered.  ' '  Show 
these  fellers  th'  game!" 

Ten  minutes  later  the  two  men  were  battling  with 
black  rocks.  They  pooled  1heir  interests  and  began 
the  task  of  producing  ten  carloads  together.  The 
work  went  hard,  of  course.  Their  hands  bled;  their 
legs  were  chipped  and  bleeding.  The  coats  came  off 
first;  then  their  shirts  and  undershirts — and  they 
were  uniform  with  the  underground  population.  The 
black  coal  dust  first  blackened  them,  and  then  as  it 
penetrated  their  mouths,  throats  and  lungs,  it  kept 
them  coughing  and  spitting  incessantly.  The  guards 
stood  by,  rolling  their  quids  from  side  to  side  of  their 
mouths,  and  toying  with  their  guns.  The  white  men 
were  silent,  dogged.  The  blacks  joked  quietly  and 
hummed  plantation  melodies  as  they  worked.  One 
thing  only  was  required  below  the  surface  of  the  earth 
— coal ;  and  a  Negro  can  only  produce  by  song — melody 
is  an  essential  accompaniment  to  all  forms  of  black 
labor.  At  noontime  a  signal  was  given,  and  the  men 
lay  down  in  their  tracks  and  panted  for  breath.  They 
stretched  themselves  on  their  backs  and  ate  the  fat 
pork — ate  it  like  beasts,  clawing  it  from  tin  cans. 


CHAPTER    XI 

"THOUGH  i  MAKE  MY  BED  IN  HELL,  BEHOLD  THOU  ART 
THERE.  ' ' 

RUDEN'S  fastidiousness  vanished.  The  labor  sucked  the 
blood  out  of  his  veins  and  drained  his  vitality.  He  felt 
an  insatiable  craving  for  liquor — any  kind  of  liquor, 
lie  ate  like  the  others — as  ravenously,  as  slovenly,  and 
with  his  dirty  coal  black  fingers.  It  seemed  but  a 
mouthful — it  was,  indeed — and  to  wash  it  down  there 
was  coffee,  brown  thin  coffee,  and  water.  Five  min 
utes  after  the  dinner  sound,  half-a-dozen  banjos  broke 
the  stillness.  They  were  in  different  pockets  of  the 
mine,  and  accompanying,  as  many  different  melodies. 
At  noontime  the  first  day  a  year  looked  like  twenty  to 
Ruden;  but  beside  him  worked  men  who  as  "first  class" 
had  pulled  out  five  tons  of  coal  a  day  for  fifteen  years. 
Love  of  life  was  large  in  them,  so  they  worked  at  the 
point  of  a  shotgun  rather  than  revolt  and  die.  At 
half-past  four  the  "slope  boss"  warned  Ruden  that 
there  was  but  half-an-hour  in  which  to  get  the  last 
carload.  Like  demons  they  worked  with  pick  and 
shovel — with  bloody,  sweaty  bodies,  with  blistered  faces 
and  calloused  hands.  Before  the  last  shovelful  was  on 
the  car,  the  men  were  leaving  the  mine.  Ruden  and 
his  companion  came  up  in  the  last  load.  They  scarcely 
had  strength  to  stand.  There  were  a  dozen  men  in  the 
load,  and  as  they  stood  packed  closely  together,  black 
and  white  blowing  their  hot  breath  into  each  other's 
faces,  the  color  line  was  effaced.  The  sound  of  the  hick- 

92 


"THOUGH  I  MAKE  MY  BED  IN  HELL"     93 

ory  stick  on  the  bar  of  iron  had  a  different  meaning  that 
night.  Hunger  pushed  him  into  line  for  the  dining- 
room.  The  color  line  was  sharply  drawn  at  the  tables. 
The  supper  was  composed  of  grits — boiled  corn — coffee 
and  bread.  Each  man  cleared  his  plate  in  less  than  five 
minutes. 

At  a  desk  in  the  center  of  the  room  sat  the  warden 
with  a  big  book  in  front  of  him  in  which  was  recorded 
the  day's  work  of  the  stockade.  A  rap  on  the  desk 
with  his  pencil  brought  the  room  from  silence  to  awe. 

' '  Jones,  Hopkins,  Davis,  Jenkins ! "  he  called  out  de 
liberately — slowly. 

Ruden  was  about  to  ask  why  the  names  were  called, 
but  the  fate  of  "Lone  Star"  was  too  fresh  in  his  mind 
to  allow  him  to  meet  trouble  half  way.  As  the  proces 
sion  marched  out,  a  deputy  caught  Ruden  by  the 
shoulder  and  pushed  him  into  a  corner  with  four 
others. 

"AYhat's  this  for?"  Ruden  asked  in  an  undertone. 

"Dish-washing,"  he  was  told. 

In  less  than  a  minute  the  room  was  cleared,  save  two 
small  groups — one  called  by  the  warden,  the  other 
pushed  into  a  corner  to  wash  up  after  the  meal.  Ruden 
was  given  three  tables  to  clear,  but  the  movements  of 
the  warden  were  of  too  sensational  a  character  not  to  be 
•watched  by  every  man  left  in  the  room.  He  took  from 
a  box  hanging  on  the  wall  behind  his  desk  a  long  leather 
thong  of  rawhide.  Then  he  removed  his  coat,  rolled 
up  his  shirt  sleeves  and  prepared  to  flog  the  men. 
They  were  white  men,  and  one  of  them,  Jenkins,  was 
"Lone  Star."  Ruden  could  scarcely  believe  the  sight 
of  his  eyes.  Jones  was  flogged  first.  He  lay  down  Hat 
on  his  stomach,  and,  without  a  groan,  received  fifteen 
cuts  on  the  back.  Hopkins  got  twenty-one  in  about 


94  THE  MAGYAR 

the  same  manner.  After  the  fifteenth,  he  writhed 
some  and  groaned.  Davis  got  ten.  "Lone  Star"  was 
ordered  to  strip.  When  naked  to  the  waist  and  ready, 
the  warden  said: 

"Jenkins — Ah'm  only  goin'  ter  give  ye  twenty-one 
on  th'  naked,  but  ye 're  gittin'  rather  glib  wi'  yer  clap 
per  lately  and  oughter  hev  more!" 

"Warden—"  said  "Lone  Star,"  "Ah've  pulled  out 
more  coal  here  nor  any  man  in  th'  place.  Ah've  bin  on 
th'  level  wi'  th'  game  all  these  years,  an'  all  Ah've  got 
t'  say  now  is  that  yer  term's  up  nex'  fall  and  Ah've 
got  six  more  months  t'  go — 

"That's  sorter  considerate  o'  ye,  'Lone  Star,'  an'  jest 
t'  show  ye  m'  appreciation,  Ah '11  give  ye  ten  extray 
for  th'  suggestion!" 

Down  went  "Lone  Star"  on  his  stomach  and  up  went 
the  long  arm  of  Gordon,  the  warden,  with  the  venom 
ous  rawhide  in  his  iron  grip.  Thirty-one  times  it  fell 
with  terrible  force  on  the  bare  back  of  the  convict. 
After  the  twentieth  the  body  twisted  a  little  at  each 
stroke,  for  the  flesh  was  lacerated  and  bloody.  The 
writhing  increased,  and  for  a  moment  the  proceedings 
stopped. 

"Sam!"  shouted  the  warden,  "git  down  on  'im!" 

A  big  negro  reluctantly  sat  down  on  "Lone  Star's" 
shoulders,  pinning  him  to  the  floor. 

"Bud!"  he  shouted  to  another  black  man,  "down 
on  'im!"  and  the  second  man  sat  down  on  his  legs. 
Then,  as  if  some  demon  possessed  him,  the  warden 
wielded  the  bloody  lash  until  his  deputy  called  out— 

"Thirty-one!" 

The  Africans  bounded  to  their  feet,  but  the  Saxon 
lay  still. 

"Th'   sucker  didn't  feel   them  last  five,"   the   war- 


" THOUGH  I  MAKE  MY  BED  IN  HELL"     95 

den  said,  "he  oughter  hev  them  for  breakfast  to- 
morrer. " 

Four  men  picked  up  "Lone  Star,"  put  him  in  a 
blanket  and  carried  him  to  "one,"  where  "Kentuek" 
washed  him  with  the  cell  drinking  water  and  covered 
his  wounds  with  a  section  of  a  shirt  donated  by  Ru- 
den's  bed-fellow. 

Three  nights  a  week  the  Chaplain  held  a  two  hours' 
session  of  a  night  school,  and  as  Ruden  could  do  noth 
ing  to  add  to  the  comfort  of  "Lone  Star,"  he  went  up 
stairs  to  the  "Chapel"  with  a  dozen  of  the  men  from 
"one."  He  found  a  dozen  whites  and  two  dozen 
blacks  rather  availing  themselves  of  the  extra  hours' 
freedom  and  light  than  of  the  facilities  to  improve  their 
education. 

The  Chaplain  was  a  man  under  forty,  a  man  of  ten 
der  sympathies,  intense  zeal  and  medieval  theology. 
The  Chapel  looked  like  a  hayloft — the  walls  were  white 
washed  and  decorated  with  chromos  and  blackboards. 
The  first  hour  was  given  to  arithmetic,  reading  and 
writing;  the  second,  to  a  religious  service.  Ruden  of 
fered  himself  as  a  teacher  for  the  first  hour.  Jim 
AVhitecotton  was  his  first  pupil. 

"How  far  have  you  gotten,  Jim?"  he  asked. 

"Ah  know  de  letters  ob  mail  name,  but  bless  gra 
cious  ef  Ah  kin  string  'em  t'gedder  so's  ye'd  know 
'em." 

"Well,  Mini'  is  easy." 

"It  sho  is:  'J'  is  like  de  ol'  whip  Ah  uster  hev;  'I' 
is  like  mah  ol'  man's  cane  down  side  up,  an'  'M'  is  a 
pig's  tail." 

"Do  you  think  of  all  those  things  every  time  you 
write  the  word,  'Jim'?" 

"Ah  sho  do!" 


96  THE  MAGYAR 

Jim  had  served  twenty  years  in  the  stockade,  and  for 
three  of  them  at  the  night  school,  he  had  wrestled  with 
the  letters  of  his  name.  He  was  the  best  banjo  player 
in  the  place,  and  on  several  occasions  the  Chaplain  had 
used  him  as  a  soloist. 

"What  are  you  here  for?"  Ruden  asked. 

"De  crime,  yo'  mean?" 

"Yes." 

"Murder,  boss — cold  blood  murder — least  Ah  think 
his  blood  wuz  cold." 

"Why  did  you  kill   him!" 

"He  come  a-monkeyin'  aroun'  mah  wife;  he  sho  did, 
an'  Ah  give  'im  fair  warnin'  twice 't.  He  wuz  a 
preacher,  too — he  sho  wuz!  Ah  say — 'Mister  parson, 
ef  yo'  come  der  agin,  Ah '11  bore  a  hole  in  yo ;  Ah  sho 
will!'  " 

"Why  didn't  they  hang  you,  Jim?" 

"Yo've  got  me,  boss;  dey  didn't  hev  enough  rope, 
Ah  recken, "  he  said,  grinning. 

"Why  aren't  you  a  trustie,  Jim?" 

"Ah  hev  bin,  boss;  but  de  temptations  am  too  big! 
Ah  make  a  break  fo'  de  woods  whin  Ah  git  a  chanct 
-Ah  sho  do!" 

Jim  was  in  the  midst  of  a  most  intricate  explanation 
of  the  way  he  tried  to  remember  the  order  of  the  letters 
in  the  word,  "Whitecotton,"  when  the  Chaplain  intro 
duced  another  pupil  to  Ruden.  He  was  a  young  fellow 
of  thirty  and  for  burglary  and  assault  had  been  sen 
tenced  one  hundred  years  on  the  first  count,  and  forty 
on  the  second.  lie  was  the  longest  of  the  long  term 
men,  and  was  pointed  out  to  visitors  as  the  "double- 
lifer."  He  liked  the  look  of  Ruden,  and  asked  the 
Chaplain  if  he  might  take  some  lessons  from  him. 

"AYhat  can  I  teach  you?"  asked  Ruden. 


"THOUGH  I  MAKE  MY  BED  IX  HELL"     97 

"There's  only  one  thing  worth  learning  here,"  he 
said,  "and  that  is — how  to  escape!" 

"And  the  next  best  thing?" 

"Is  how  to  endure  the  lack  of  such  teaching!" 

There  was  a  refinement  about  the  desperado  that  was 
not  only  attractive,  but  positively  fascinating.  His 
English  was  faultless,  and  his  manners  those  of  a  man 
of  culture. 

"You've  traveled?"  linden  ventured. 

"Yes — I  was  abroad  several  years.  I  finished  at 
Berlin." 

"A  degree,  you  mean?" 

"Yes!" 

"How  came  you  to  get  so  far  down!" 

"  'Down'  is  a  comparative  term,"  said  the  man. 

"That's  true —  '  Ruden  said,  as  he  thought  of  his 
own  case. 

"My  people  lost  all  they  had  in  a  corner  in  wrheat, 
and  I  was  left  without  position  or  money.  I  endured 
for  a  year,  and  then,  in  desperation,  I  took  what  I 
wanted — took  it  as  it  had  been  taken  from  me !  I  did 
it  repeatedly,  and  landed  here.  Did  you  see  'Lone 
Star'  whipped  to-night?" 

"Yes,  the  most  brutal  thing  I  ever  saw!  Not  one 
man  in  a  million  would  believe  that  in  the  Twentieth 
Century  white  men,  Anglo-Saxons,  are  being  flogged 
like  slaves  by  the  thousand." 

"And  about  the  same  percentage  don't  care  a  - 
whether  there  are  as  many  flogged  or  not." 

"That  may  be  so." 

"That  is  so!" 

"You  hope,  then,  to  escape?" 

"Yes — four  fellows  in  'one'  have  been  digging  a  tun 
nel  for  a  year." 


98  THE  MAGYAR 

"Where?" 

"In  a  pocket  of  the  mine;  six  months  more  and  they 
will  come  out  half  a  mile  from  here." 

"If  they  are  not  caught!" 

"If  they  are  not  caught,  as  you  say;  but  I  am  going 
to  give  them  a  chance  to  escape  before  they  finish  their 
tunnel." 

"How?" 

' '  Just  keep  your  eyes  open  ! ' ' 

"It  would  be  difficult  to  close  them  here!" 

"Not  as  difficult  as  you  imagine.  There  is  paralysis 
in  the  air  here.  A  month  brutalizes  most  men  who 
come  here.  Many  who  escape  brutalization,  die  of  a 
broken  heart ;  and  of  those  who  escape  both,  tubercu 
losis  gets  a  very  large  share." 

The  Chaplain  called  the  students  to  order  for  the 
service.  It  was  simple,  sincere  and  archaic.  A  few 
hymns,  a  few  prayers  and  a  talk — a  talk  directed  largely 
at  the  latest  arrival  in  order  to  prepare  his  mind  for 
the  personal  appeal  which  was  sure  to  follow.  There 
was  a  word  of  appeal  to  Jack  Brewster,  the  "double- 
lifer,"  who  sat  beside  Ruden.  Brewster  shook  his 
head.  The  Chaplain  smiled  and  tried  again.  Brew 
ster  said: 

"Parson,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  but  I 
must  say  that  of  all  the  satire  on  life  I  see  around  me 
here,  nothing  is  half  as  satirical  as  the  motto  on  these 
prison  association  buttons.  The  angels  must  laugh  as 
they  read  the  buttons  on  a  convict's  breast:  'All  for 
Jesus ! '  That  ought  to  be  changed  to  read,  '  All  for  the 
Genessee  Coal  and  Iron  Company!'  One  could  under 
stand  that!  The  State  of  Alabama — pardon  me — I  did 
not  intend  to  talk,  Dr.  Hill — pardon  me." 

"Go   on,   Brewster,   it  will   do   you   good  to  unload; 


"THOUGH  I  MAKE  MY  BED  IN  HELL"     99 

and  it  may  do  us  good  to  hear  you,"  the  Chaplain  said. 

''That's  generous  of  you,  sir;  we  do  a  lot  of  talking 
in  these  meetings  on  things  of  no  particular  intercut  to 
anyone." 

"Make  it  'some,'  not  'a  lot,'  "  remarked  the  Chap 
lain,  smiling. 

'  'Some,'  then.  Now,  here's  a  clipping  from  an 
Alabama  paper  that  came  here  last  week.  It's  a  report 
by  the  president  of  the  convict  board.  lie  says:  'I  am 
more  convinced  than  ever  before  that  the  ideas  of  hu 
manity  and  civilization  would  be  better  served  and  car 
ried  out  if  the  torch  were  applied  to  every  jail  in 
Alabama.  It  would  be  more -humane  to  stake  the  pris 
oner  out  with  a  ring  around  his  neck  like  a  wild  animal 
than  to  confine  him  in  places  we  call  jails  that  are 
reeking  with  filth  and  disease,  and  alive  with  vermin 
of  all  kinds.  They  are  not  only  harbingers  of  disease, 
but  nurseries  of  death.'  Now,  Parson,  it  takes  courage 
to  say  that  in  Alabama.  The  State  makes  three  quar 
ters  of  a  million  dollars  out  of  us  each  year  by  selling 
us  body  and  soul  to  the  highest  bidder.  In  this  place 
men  are  murdered  by  the  rawhide,  by  tuberculosis — 
by  other  diseases,  due  to  filth,  lack  of  food  and  lack  of 
sanitation.  Alabama  being  the  most  religious  State 
of  the  Union,  sends  you  here  to  save  our  souls — -to  make 
us  contented  with  hell  and  lick  the  lash  that  cuts  our 
flesh  to  ribbons!  All  the  men  here  love  you  person 
ally,  Dr.  Hill ;  but  surely  you  know  the  atmosphere  is 
one  of  hatred — surely  you  know  that  the  State  is  the 
modern  whited  sepulchre  ;  don 't  you  ? ' ' 

"There  is  some  truth  in  what  you  say,  Brewrster,  but 
you  lay  too  much  importance  on  the  present  life.  This 
life  is  brief;  there  is  an  eternity  beyond,  and  the  ques 
tion  we  have  to  settle  some  time  or  other  is  whether 


100  THE  MAGYAR 

we  shall  spend  that  eternity  with  God  or  the  Devil — in 
heaven  or  in  hell." 

After  the  meeting  the  Chaplain  laid  his  hand  ten 
derly,  almost  caressingly.,  on  Ruden's  shoulder,  and 
said: 

"My  brother — how  do  you  stand  related  to  this  great 
question  ? ' ' 

"I  will  tell  you,"  answered  Ruden,  "when  I  know 
how  you  stand  related  to  a  bigger  question — how  you 
are  related  to  the  crime  of  murder  as  it  is  committed 
in  this  institution  of  which  you  are  Chaplain?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"Then  you  are  more  ignorant  than  I  thought  you 
were. ' ' 

"I  suppose  you  mean  conditions  in  general!" 

"Yes — and  conditions  in  particular,  too!" 

"For  instance?" 

"Overwork,  underfeeding,  whipping,  filth,  vermin 
and  disease!" 

"Well,  of  course,  the  situation  is  bad;  but  I  don't  see 
how  I  can  help  it." 

"You  would  lose  your  appointment  if  you  tried,  per 
haps—is  that  it?" 

"Well,  to  be  frank,  I  probably  would." 

"Then  we  may  learn  from  each  other.  I  also  am  a 
minister  of  the  gospel." 


CHAPTER    XII 

JIM     WHITECOTTON  's     LAST     LOAD 

BREWSTEB  became  a  regular  pupil  of  Ruden 's  at  the 
night  school.  Ruden  at  each  session  put  a  problem  on 
the  board.  Brewster  solved  it,  and  the  rest  of  the  time 
they  talked  and  compared  notes.  Jim  AVhitecotton 
worked  on  the  board  next  to  them,  and  Ruden  gave  him 
an  occasional  hint  in  stringing  together  the  letters  of 
his  name.  Next  to  AVhitecotton  stood  a  yellow-skinned 
boy  of  fifteen,  serving  a  twenty-year  sentence.  He  was 
half-witted,  and  old  AVhitecotton  had  promised  the  boy's 
mother  to  be  kind  to  him.  The  fourth  session  of  the 
school  that  Ruden  attended,  he  overheard  a  conversa 
tion  between  AVhitecotton  and  the  boy.  The  boy  had 
been  sent  out  alone  to  a  gang  of  convicts,  working  on 
the  country  road,  and  was  telling  AVhitecotton  about  it. 

"An'  dey  didn't  put  no  chains  on  yo'  anklets?" 

The  boy  shook  his  head. 

"Honey,"  the  old  man  said,  "de  nex'  time  yo'  git 
a  chance  like  dat,  mend  yo'  licks  an'  git  somewhar — 
does  yo'  heeah?" 

Next  day  the  simpleton  took  the  old  man's  advice, 
but  failed  in  its  execution.  He  was  captured  and  re 
turned  to  the  stockade.  AVhen  questioned,  he  told  the 
warden  that  "Uncle  Jim"  had  told  him  to  go.  AVhite 
cotton  was  called. 

"Did  you  tell  th'  kid  t'  go?"  the  warden  asked  him. 

"Marse  AVahden — Ah  done  gone  try  dat  trick  till 
yo've  peeled  de  black  hide  orf  man  bones.  Do  one  rab 
bit  tell  anoder  how  ter  git  trapp't?" 

101 


102  THE  MAGYAR 

"Nigger — did  you  tell  'ira  ter  go?"  he  roared. 

The  old  man  shook,  and  began  to  whimper. 

"Lordy,  Lordy,  Oh  mah  Lordy, "  he  whined,  "Ah 
done  gone  wish  nobody  no  hahm!" 

The  warden  smashed  him  on  the  side  of  the  head, 
and  he  went  sprawling  on  the  floor;  then  he  went  over 
and  dealt  him  a  vicious  kick  on  the  abdomen.  The  old 
man  doubled  up  in  agony. 

"Kick  me  on  de  head,  Marse  Wahden,  so  Ah  wont 
feel  de  oders!" 

Two  deputies  hurried  the  old  man  to  his  cell.  AVhen 
the  delinquent  roll  was  called  at  supper  time,  AVhite- 
cotton  headed  the  list.  He  had  received  more  stripes 
than  any  man  in  the  prison,  and  it  was  supposed  by 
the  warden  and  deputies  that  he  had  a  thicker  hide ; 
so  his  ability  to  stand  punishment  became  more  of  a 
gauge  in  his  whippings  than  his  infractions  of  the  rules. 
That  night  he  got  fifty  lashes ;  at  least,  the  warden 
flogged  him  to  that  extent,  but  the  negro  who  sat  on 
him  said  he  felt  nothing  after  the  fortieth.  Next  morn 
ing  the  old  man  could  scarcely  stand  on  his  feet.  "With 
the  help  of  Big  Tom,  his  partner  in  the  mine,  he  man 
aged  to  get  his  clothes  on  and  hobble  down  to  breakfast 
with  the  others. 

"Ye  ain't  gwine  ter  take  no  banjo  dis  trip,  Jim,  is 
yo'?"  Tom  asked. 

"Deed  Ah  am.  Ah'd  be  dead  for  sho  befo'  night  ef 
Ah  didn't  hev  'er  aroun'!"  So,  with  his  banjo  slung 
around  his  shoulders,  he  took  his  place  at  the  breakfast 
table ;  but  he  was  unable  to  eat. 

' '  Go  see  de  doctah  ! ' '  Tom  urged. 

"What's  de  use?"  Jim  asked. 

"Go  on,  yo'  ol'  fool;  yo'  neber  know  what's  gwine  t' 
hit  yo'  tell  yo'r  hut!" 


JIM  WHITECOTTON'S  LAST  LOAD        103 

"Marse  "Wahden —  '  whined  Jim,  "Ah  wants  ter  see 
de  doctah  dis  morn." 

"Ye  do,  hey?     Waal,  ye '11  see  'im  an'  feel  'im,  too!" 

linden  had  been  detailed  to  help  carry  a  case  to  the 
dispensary,  and  was  there  when  old  Jim  came  in. 

"Hello,  "Whitecotton ! "  the  medical  man  said,  "play- 
in'  'possum  again?" 

' '  Ah  ain  't  playin '  no  'possum,  doctah, ' '  Jim  said  ; 
"Ah'm  putty  nigh  all  in." 

"Where  has  the  lazy  bug  stung  ye  this  time?" 

"Marse  Wahden  lies  done  gone  broke  some 'at  in  me 
innards,  doctah — he  sho  lies!"  He  described  the  pains. 

The  physician  laughed — "Go  on,  Jim, — git!" 

"Ain't  ye  gwine  t'  giv'  us  some 'at?"  Jim  whined. 

"He  was  kicked,  doctor,"  Ruden  broke  in,  "and  got 
fifty  lashes  last  night.  His  shirt  is  glued  to  his  back 
with  blood.  For  God's  sake,  help  the  old  fellow!" 

The  doctor  looked  open-mouthed  at  the  speaker. 

"Oh,  you're  the  smart  guy  just  arrived,  are  you?" 

"T  appeal  to  you  as  a  man,  doctor." 

"I  never  saw  the  Northerner  yet  who  didn't  think  he 
knew  more  about  niggers  than  we  Southerners  do  who 
live  with  them." 

"This  isn't  a  question  of  race,  doctor.  If  this  was 
a  horse  or  a  dog  or  a  pig,  I  would  appeal  for  pity,  for 
consideration !" 

"Give  me  that  horsewhip!"  the  doctor  called  to  an 
attendant.  "Now,  then,  Jim,  here's  the  medicine  you 
need  for  'possum  disease ! ' '  and  he  curled  the  lash 
around  Whitecotton 's  legs. 

A  look  of  unutterable  hopelessness  came  into  the 
negro's  face.  His  eyes  rolled.  It  was  probably  the 
only  spark  of  resentment  he  had  ever  shown,  and  the 
doctor  was  as  quick  to  catch  its  meaning  as  Ruden. 


104  THE  MAGYAR 

"See  that?"  he  yelled.  "Just  beneath  the  skin  of 
every  nigger  you  find  the  beast!"  He  rushed  at  Jim, 
knocked  him  down,  and  kicked  him  twice,  shouting — 
"Get  up,  nigger,  and  get  to  work!" 

The  sight  maddened  Ruden.  In  his  convict's  stripes 
he  rushed  between  the  doctor  and  his  victim  on  the 
floor. 

"For  God's  sake —  '  the  sentence  was  cut  short  by 
the  butt  of  the  whip,  as  the  doctor  smashed  it  across  his 
face.  Another  instant  and  the  whip  had  changed 
hands,  and  its  owner  was  appealing  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  for  help.  When  Ruden  got  possession  of  the 
whip,  he  threw  it  in  a  corner  and  put  the  owner  011  the 
defensive  with  his  fists. 

"You  cowardly  cur!"  he  said,  "you  can  beat  an  old 
man  to  death,  but  when  you  face  a  man,  you  play  the 
baby  and  squeal  for  help." 

"Hand  me  that  revolver!"  yelled  the  doctor  to  his 
assistant. 

Ruden  rushed  at  him,  caught  him  by  the  collar  and 
whirled  him  into  the  center  of  the  room. 

"Hold  up  your  hands!"  he  said,  as  he  made  another 
rush — this  time  to  punish  him  if  it  were  in  his  power 
or  at  least  divert  the  doctor's  attention. 

There  was  little  time,  however,  for  he  was  seized  by 
a  couple  of  deputies  from  behind  and  led  away  to  the 
warden.  He  Avas  heavily  shackled  with  iron  chains 
around  the  ankles,  and  led  to  the  mine.  Meantime, 
AYhitecotton  had  been  bundled  out  of  the  dispensary  to 
his  coal  pocket  below.  Big  Tom  wept  over  the  old 
man's  condition,  as  he  poured  oil  over  his  back  to  keep 
the  shirt  from  sticking  to  it. 

"Poh  ol'  Jim!"  he  said,  "yo'  stick  in  this  yer  cornah 
an'  Ah '11  do  de  trick  fob  de  two  on  us." 


JIM  ^^YIIITECOTTOX'S  LAST  LOAD        105 

After  awhile  Jim  took  up  his  banjo  and  began  to 
thrum  it. 

"Nigger,"  said  the  "slope  boss,"  "put  up  that  ar  tin 
kittle  o '  yourn  right  away  ! ' ' 

"Boss  deputy,"  Tom  said,  "give  de  poll  ol'  niggah  a 
show;  do,  like  a  good  kind  boss  what  yo'  is,  an'  yo'll 
see  Big  Tom  mend  'is  licks  an'  whip  out  ten  cyars  o' 
coal  befo'  dese  oder  fellahs  git  out  five.  Ah  sho  will, 
boss,  ef  yo'll  jest  give  ol'  Jim  a  show!" 

Jim  put  the  banjo  down,  and  swaying  back  and  forth 
on  a  ledge  of  coal,  hummed : 

"Oh,  deah  Lohd,  Ah'm  weary  awaitin',  awaitin'  foh 
yo'  comin' — Ah  am." 

Jim  hummed  and  Big  Tom  worked  until  noontime ; 
then  half-a-dozen  banjos  in  as  many  different  pockets, 
struck  as  many  different  tunes.  Jim,  no  longer  able 
to  sit  on  the  ledge,  reclined  against  it,  and  picking  up 
his  banjo,  began  feebly  to  thrum  an  accompaniment  to 
his  melody — his  valedictory.  AYheii  the  half-hour  res 
pite  was  up,  he  made  an  effort  to  get  to  work.  He 
arose  and  stood  beside  Big  Tom's  full  car  of  coal.  He 
seized  it  with  both  hands,  but  his  old  head  dropped  be 
tween  them,  and  when  he  slid  to  the  pit  floor,  he  was 
humming — "Oh,  d-e-a-h  L-o-h-d — Ah'm  aweary — 
Then  he  rolled  over  and  was  still.  AVhen  Tom  returned 
with  the  empty  car,  he  found  him  there  with  his  banjo 
under  his  arm.  The  "slope  boss"  came  along  at  the 
same  time  and  poked  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  against  the 
old  man's  ribs,  but  there  was  no  response.  Tom  wept. 

' '  Boss, ' "  he  said,  ' '  Ah  recken  yo  '11  hev  ter  excuse  Jim 
dis  time — he's  dead." 

"Put  his  carcass  on  top  of  yer  car,  Tom,  and  take  it 
away." 

AVhen  the  coal  was  ready,   they  put  Whitecottou  on 


106  THE  MAGYAR 

top;  then  Tom  took  the  old  man's  banjo  and  with  his 
mighty  sinewy  hand,  tore  its  strings  from  the  wood. 
Then,  between  his  hands,  he  crushed  it  as  if  it  had  been 
a  matchbox,  and  put  it  beside  his  friend. 

"Bof  on    'em  hev  played  der  last  chime,"  he  said, 
as  the  convict  catafalque  moved  toward  the  light. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

A   DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION  AND   A   DASH   FOR  LIBERTY 

THE  first  man  to  meet  Ruden  as  he  entered  "one" 
that  night  after  his  flogging,  was  Brewster,  the  "double- 
lifer."  Twenty  lashes  had  considerably  weakened  Ru 
den 's  strong  frame.  It  had  made  more  of  an  impres 
sion  on  his  nervous  system  than  on  his  body.  He  tot 
tered  to  his  bed  and  threw  himself  across  it. 

"Perhaps  you  prefer  to  be  alone,"  Brewster  said,  as 
he  lay  down  beside  him. 

"Go  ahead,"  Ruden  said,  "I  don't  want  to  talk- 
but  I  can  listen." 

"You  are  an  odd  type,"  Brewster  began,  "and  if  you 
will  pardon  what  seems  brutal,  I'll  be  frank  enough  to 
tell  you  that  I'm  glad  you  got  that  flogging." 

Ruden  turned  around  on  his  side  and  looked  at  him. 

"Why  are  you  glad?" 

"You  are  one  of  us  now!" 

"Did  it  take  that  to  make  me  one  of  you?" 

"Yes;  you  were  a  little  high  toned— making  a  socio 
logical  study  of  us,  as  it  were.  You  were  a  criminal 
by  an  unfortuitous  circumstance.  Now  you  smart  and 
suffer,  and  your  heart  is  a  melting-pot  of  red  rebel 
lion." 

"Well,  now  that  I  am  initiated,  what's  the  next 
thing?" 

"I  can  let  you  into  my  secret." 

"I  confess  to  you,  Brewster,  that  the  murder  of  old 
Whitecotton  and  my  own  flogging  have  modified  my 
worship  of  the  State  as  such." 

107 


108  THE  MAGYAR 

"What  have  you  been  thinking  of  since  you  came  in 
off  the  block?" 

""Well — I  have  thought  of  many  things  in  a  moment 
of  time;  but  John  Brown  came  to  me  on  that  floor — I 
understood  him  for  the  first  time." 

"Ah,  that's  interesting!  "Well,  you've  had  a  chance 
to  see  how  free  the  niggers  are,  anyway!" 

"I  see  that  in  the  South  you  have  'niggers',  as  you 
call  them,  of  all  races — a  laborer  here  is  a  'nigger' 
whether  white  or  black!" 

"AYell,  we  white  people  down  here  have  nigger  on 
the  brain,  I  confess, — and  I  hate  them  like  hell  and  as 
naturally  as  I  breathe;  so  don't  drag  me  into  a  dis 
cussion  on  that,  for  we  could  never  agree.  I  want  to 
tell  you  my  plan." 

"Your  plan  to  escape?" 

"Exactly." 

"I  don't  want  to  escape — I  want  to  suffer  a  year's 
agony  here  with  these  men,  and  then  go  out  and  tell 
the  world." 

"Don't  be  an  ass,  whatever  you  are!  The  world, 
as  you  call  it,  wouldn't  believe  you;  and  if  a  moiety  of 
it  did,  the  majority  would  crucify  you  in  some  way  or 
other.  Have  a  little  regard  for  your  own  skin ;  it 
doesn  't  last  long  down  here ! ' ' 

"Well,  tell  me  your  plan!" 

"I  am  in  charge  of  the  dynamite  of  the  mine." 

"Oh!" 

"Yes,  they  always  give  that  job  to  the  man  who 
cares  little  for  life.  Now,  my  plan  is  to  get  enough 
men  of  "one"  to  carry  up  enough  in  one  night  to  blow 
out  the  side  of  the  entire  stockade!" 

"Heavens!  what  then?" 

' '  Then  a  dash  for  liberty  and  trust  for  success ! ' ' 


A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION  109 

"Don't  count  me  in  until  I  think  it  over/'  Ruden 
said. 

"Stranger,"  said  "Lone  Star,"  who  had  heard  the 
conversation,  "another  dose  o'  leather  will  clear  up  tlr 
fog  o '  yer  thought,  Ah  reckon,  so  we  '11  hang  on  f er  ye ! " 

"  'Lone  Star,'  "  said  Rudcn,  "this  isn't  a  personal 
problem  with  me ;  I  could  get  revenge — personal  re 
venge;  but  I  want  to  act  in  such  a  way  that  the  tens 
of  thousands  of  slaves  at  the  wheel  of  labor  will  be 
helped  and  not  hurt  by  my  action — my  conduct!" 

"Ye 're  a  little  bcyant  mi  depth,  stranger,"  "Lone 
Star"  said,  "but  ye 're  on  th'  level.  We  feel  that,  an' 
what  ye  say — goes!" 

Before  the  light  wrent  out,  every  man  in  "one"  had 
looked  Ruden  over.  There  were  at  least  half-a-dozen 
schemes  at  work  among  the  men  of  "one,"  and  the  pro 
moters  of  each  were  quick  to  take  advantage  of  such 
mental  condition  as  usually  accompanied  a  whipping. 
The  men  hung  around  for  Ruden 's  benefit  until  the 
deputy  came  along  to  put  the  chains  on  his  ankles. 
Five  minutes  later  the  light  went  out,  and  he  was  left 
alone  with  his  thoughts — and  the  murderer  by  his  side. 

"I've  been  sizing  you  up  since  we  arrived  here,"  the 
murderer  said,  "and  I  want  to  break  my  silence  to 
give  you  a  word  of  advice."  The  voice  seemed  almost 
sepulchral  in  its  undertone. 

"Well,"  Ruden  whispered,  "I'm  glad  to  hear  your 
voice  anyway ;  and  as  we  are  chained  here  for  a  year, 
we  might  as  well  make  ourselves  agreeable." 

They  spoke  into  each  other's  cars  in  whispers — so  low 
that  they  could  not  be  heard  in  the  next  bed. 

"Only  God  knows  how  long  we  are  chained  together; 
for,  presumably,  I  am  here  for  twenty  years,  and  you 
are  here  for  one.  That's  what  the  judge  and  the  cal- 


110  THE  MAGYAR 

endar  say ;  but  the  cankcrworm  of  conditions  laughs  at 
them !  You  are  a  prisoner  of  hope.  My  condition  is 
different — I  am  the  slave  of  an  implacable  hatred!" 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  Ruden  whispered. 

"Then  listen.  Are  you  willing  to  exchange  confi 
dences  with  me?" 

"Certainly — if  my  case  is  of  interest  to  you,  I  will 
give  it  to  you  in  detail." 

"No,  your  case  is  of  no  interest  to  me;  but  you  are 
—there  is  a  destiny  written  on  your  face  that  this  hell 
cannot  control !" 

"Listen!     I  hear  footfalls —  '  Ruden  said. 

"It's  that  dynamite  bunch,"  he  answered.  "They 
get  together  at  the  far  corner  of  the  cell  in  the  dark 
and  discuss  plans,  every  night." 

"Look  here,"  Ruden  said,  "time  is  precious;  let  us 
get  to  the  heart  of  what  you  want  to  say." 

"The  lacerations  make  you  impatient;  perhaps  we 
had  better  postpone  it?" 

"No — not  that;  I  shall  not  be  able  to  sleep  anyway, 
but  every  word  counts  in  these  circumstances." 

''Then  listen!  1  am  a  man  whom  people  have  always 
shunned — with  good  reason.  A  Nemesis  hangs  over  mi; 
-*-[  was  told  by  a  clairvoyant  once  that  an  opportunity 
for  a  great  sacrifice  would  come  to  me  some  day,  and 
if  I  was  equal  to  it,  the  spell  would  be  broken.  "Well, 
it  came — at  least,  I  thought  it  came,  and  I  mot  it ;  but 
the  spell  was  not  broken.  1  live  in  an  atmosphere  of 
hate—" 

"Stop,"  Ruden  whispered,  "tell  me  of  the  sacrifice." 

"No — I  can't  do  that — don't  disturb  me  till  you 
know  all.  I  have  a  sister — she  urged  me  to  the  sacri 
fice,  and  it  was  in  the  hope  that  she  saw  something  good 
in  me  that  I  put  my  neck  in  the  yoke.  But  she  dis- 


A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION  111 

owned  me;  and  the  object  of  the  sacrifice  spit  upon  me. 
That  filled  me  full  of  unutterable  hatred,  and  I  plotted 
revenge.  Then  I  saw  some  light,  and  I  gave  up  my 
plans  of  revenge.  Now  here  is  the  point — are  you  lis 
tening?" 

"Yes." 

"If  at  any  time  you  don't  hear  distinctly,  cough 
gently,  and  I'll  repeat." 

"Wait  a  moment!"  Ruden  tried  to  lie  on  his  back, 
but  the  pain  was  too  great.  He  turned  over  again  on 
his  stomach,  and  they  resumed  their  previous  mouth  to 
ear  position. 

' '  What  is  your  name  ? ' '  asked  the  murderer. 

"I  am  registered  as  'Stephen  Dasza';"  call  me 
'Steve.'  And  yours?" 

"I  was  convicted  under  the  name  of  'Jonathan 
Sparks' — call  me  'Jean.'  : 

"Then  to  the  point,  Jean." 

"Steve,  you  are  on  the  wrong  trail.  Your  attempt 
to  help  old  AYhitecotton  is  an  example, — you  increased 
his  pain,  hurried  his  death  and  got  flogged  for  your  im 
pulse!" 

"It  was  a  good  impulse." 

"No  doubt — but  the  world  at  present  is  cursed  with 
an  overplus  of  inefficient  goodness — your  impulse  must 
have  sense  as  well  as  intuition — that's  trite,  pardon  me 
—I  must  to  the  point  or  you  will  be  too  impatient  to 
hear  me  out." 

"What  about  your  sleep?" 

"That's  unimportant — sound  sleep  will  follow  an  un 
derstanding.  ' ' 

"I  wras  concerned  only  about  you,"  Ruden  said. 

"And  I,"  said  Jean,  "am  taking  advantage  of  your 
inability  to  sleep." 


112  THE  MAGYAR 

"Go  on,  please!" 

"Well,  in  a  nutshell,  this  is  what  I  want  to  say- 
physical  force  is  only  a  factor  when  collectively  applied 
— for  an  individual  or  a  group  to  use  it  as  a  weapon 
for  reform  or  revenge  means  failure  and  retrogression 
— the  new  force— the  force  of  the  future  is  mental. 

"Are  you  listening?" 

"Yes,  I  agree  with  you." 

"You  agree  with  me — but  will  you  act  with  me?" 

"How?" 

"You  have  the  creative  mind — I  have  the  material 
— let  us  draw  up  an  indictment." 

' '  Indict  a  race  ? ' ' 

' '  Not  a  race  merely  hut  a  whole  civilization ! ' ' 

' '  In  a  document  ? ' ' 

"Yes, — John  Howard  and  Elizabeth  Fry  did  it.— 
Why  not  two  convicts  who  are  victims  of  a  system?" 

"But—" 

"Yes — I  know."  Jean  said  as  he  groped  for  Ruden's 
arm  and  pressed  his  lips  to  his  ear — "I  know  what's  in 
your  mind — I  am  a  murderer — but  what  is  murder? 
Illegal  killing — but  to  every  illegal  killing  there  are  ten 
thousand  cold-blooded  murders  within  the  law!  The 
world  is  ignorant— stupid — only  mental  dynamite  will 
break  up  the  callousness  of  the  human  heart,  but  it 
can  be  broken— it  shall  be  broken — we — you  and  I — con 
victs — can  do  it — if  we  will!" 

Ruden  groped  for  his  hand — the  hands  met  and 
gripped  each  other  tightly. 

"We'll  try — by  God's  grace,"  said  Ruden. 

"I  know  nothing  of  God's  grace,"  said  Jean,  "but 
if  that's  essential,  you  furnish  it. — I'll  furnish  the 
mental  dynamite  ! ' ' 

"Good  night,  Jean." 


A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION  113 

"Good  night,  Stove." 

These  whispering  conferences  went  on  night  after 
night  for  weeks — so  did  the  dynamite  round  table  in 
the  far  end  of  the  cell. 

The  coup  dc  stockade  was  to  be  the  first  order  of  busi 
ness  after  Thanksgiving. 

Thanksgiving  day  was  usually  a  day  of  feasting. 
The  State  demands  of  stockade  wardens  that  meat  and 
white  bread  be  served  once  a  week — pork  was  not  con 
sidered  meat.  These  extra  delicacies  were  usually 
served  on  Sunday  when  the  men  had  time  to  appre 
ciate  them.  On  Thanksgiving,  1906,  the  meat  and 
bread  of  the  previous  Sunday  were  held  over  and  served 
on  Thanksgiving  Day  as  a  token  of  the  consideration 
and  appreciation  of  the  Genessee  Coal  and  Iron  Com 
pany.  In  addition  to  these  extras  a  Sunday  School  in 
the  'Pittsburg  of  the  South'  had  donated  an  orange 
and  a  small  stick  of  candy  for  each  convict  and  each 
man  was  asked  to  write  a  note  of  appreciation — "if 
only  a  few  words"  to  stimulate  the  good  work  on  fu 
ture  Thanksgivings.  The  "blow  out"  of  the  day,  as  the 
men  called  it,  was  a  roast  turkey  and  apple  pie  dinner, 
given  to  a  limited  gilt-edged  list  of  guests  in  "one." 

There  was  a  system  in  vogue  by  which  for  every  ton 
of  coal  mined  above  the  regulation  requirement  a  ticket 
exchangeable  at  the  stockade  store  for  thirty  cents'  worth 
of  groceries  was  given.  This,  of  course,  was  for  "first 
class"  men.  If  a  second  class  man  aimed  at  this  in 
centive  he  was  immediately  put  into  the  first  class.  The 
deputies  traded  considerably  in  these  tickets  and  were 
able  to  cash  them  at  face  value,  whereas  the  convicts 
had  to  take  whatever  the  store  provided  and  prices  there 
ranged  from  two  to  three  hundred  per  cent,  higher 
than  elsewhere. 


114  THE  MAGYAR 

It  was  one  of  these  tickets  that  "Lone  Star"  bet  on 
the  movements  of  the  fly. 

The  turkey  dinner  therefore  was  the  result  of  long 
months  of  toil  in  the  coal  pit  of  the  Genessee  Coal  and 
Iron  Company.  Labor  there  wasn't  a  matter  of  crime 
—all  crimes  were  alike — it  was  a  matter  of  physical 
condition — of  'class,'  not  in  morals,  but  in  mining.  The 
Coal  Company  hired  these  men  from  the  State  at  a  dol 
lar  a  day  per  head  and  proceeded  to  work  them  to  the 
limit  of  their  physical  ability.  Rudeu  and  Jean  were 
invited  to  turkey  dinner. 

"Gents,"  said  "Kentuck,"  "Ah've  sorter  capped  th' 
climax  in  the  banquet  business  in  these  parts  b'  haviu' 
a  real  live  sky  pilot  t'  ax  a  blessin'." 

All  hands  looked  at  Ruden — he  was  embarrassed. 

"Go  on  parson!"  said  "Lone  Star,"  "we're  all  onto 
yc — so  ye 're  in  for  it." 

It  was  an  act  of  modesty  that  made  Ruden  bow  his 
head — he  had  no  intention  of  prayer  or  grace,  but  every 
man  stood  there  with  bowed  head  also. 

After  a  painful  suspense,  iu  a  trembling  voice,  he 
said:  "God,  here  in  this  place  where  there  is  neither 
Spring,  Summer,  Autumn  nor  AYinter,  where  the  blue 
dome  of  heaven  is  shut  out  from  us  by  a  layer  of  coal 
by  day  and  a  rotted  roof  by  night,  where  Sun  and  Moon 
and  Stars  are  strangers  and  friends  are  memories  of  a 
buried  past ;  where  the  birds  sing  not  nor  flowers 
bloom;  where  there  is  neither  joy  in  labor  nor  balm  in 
sleep — clad  in  the  uniform  of  shame,  deserted  by  the 
State,  insulted  by  the  Church,  in  an  atmosphere  of  hate 
where  time  is  counted  by  cars  of  coal  and  the  re-percus 
sions  of  pain — here  God,  in  hell,  we  lift  up  our  voices 
and  for  the  human  touch  and  comradeship  around  this 
accursed  board  we  thank  tliee!" 


A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION  115 

The  men  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  and  then 
altogether  at  Ruden. 

"Lone  Star"  being  asked  to  "carve," — knives  and 
forks  were  forbidden — pulled  the  turkey  apart  and  di 
vided  it. 

After  dinner,  they  smoked,  told  stories  and  watched 
the  guards  in  the  watch  boxes  on  the  fence — a  favorite 
Sunday  diversion  in  "one."  The  dynamiters  met  for 
a  last  conference.  The  difficulties  were  gone  over  one 
by  one  and  an  hour  set. 

The  third  night  after  Thanksgiving,  about  five  min 
utes  after  the  return  from  supper,  an  explosion  that 
blew  a  section  of  the  stockade  into  the  air  was  heard 
and  shook  the  earth  for  miles  around.  The  south  end 
of  "one"  disappeared  and  from  what  was  left,  men 
rushed  like  rats  out  of  a  hole  and  sprang  at  the  high 
fence.  Every  man  who  ventured  the  leap  took  his  life 
in  his  hands.  As  the  men  struck  the  fence  there  was  a 
volley  from  the  shotguns  in  the  sentry  boxes  that  brought 
a.  score  of  men  to  the  ground.  Only  four  of  them 
topped  the  fence,  two  of  them  dropped  back  into  the 
yard,  shot  through  the  body — one  of  them,  "Kentuck," 
fatally.  Brewster  received  three  bullets  but  the  doc 
tors  said  he  would  do  a  fc\v  more  of  his  140  years. 

"Lone  Star" — considered  the  most  desperate  man  in 
tho  stockade — was  found  standing  at  the  edge  of  the 
ruins  motionless  and  apparently  unconcerned — this  puz 
zled  the  officers  more  than  anything  else  connected  with 
the  affair.  Ruden  and  his  partner  took  no  part  in  it 
and  were  not  even  questioned  by  the  "Warden.  Eleven 
negroes  and  three  white  men  were  blown  to  death  and  a 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  the  Genessee  Coal  and  Iron 
Company's  property  was  destroyed. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

VOICES    FROM    THE    ABYSS 

A  SPACE  writer  on  a  daily  paper  wrote  a  sensational 
story  of  the  affair  and  so  stirred  the  vicinity  that  the 
Governor  appointed  a  commission  to  inquire  into  the 
explosion  and  the  events  leading  up  to  it. 

Three  of  the  largest  employers  of  labor  in  the  State 
Avere  appointed  members  of  it. 

"Congressman  Oglethorpe,"  said  the  Birmingham 
Argus,  editorially,  "is  the  wisest  selection  the  Governor 
could  have  made,  and  because  of  his  wide  experience 
and  Avell  known  interest  in  all  matters  pertaining  to 
labor  •will  make  a  most  excellent  Chairman." 

At  the  first  day's  session  the  Commission  called  the 
"Warden,  half-a-dozen  deputies  and  the  prison  physi 
cian,  who  testified  as  to  their  knowledge  of  the  explo 
sion.  The  bulk  of  the  testimony  related  to  the  difficul 
ties  of  handling  convict  labor,  some  of  it  related  to  the 
results  of  the  explosion.  The  second  day  "Lone  Star" 
Avas  a  picturesque  feature  of  the  proceedings.  His 
record  Avas  before  the  Commissioners — they  knew  the 
man. 

"A  deputy  testified  yesterday,"  said  the  Chairman 
of  the  Commission,  "that  you  stood  calmly  Avithin  a  feAV 
feet  of  the  explosion  Avhen  it  occurred.  Tell  us  Avhat 
you  were  doing  at  the  time?" 

"Jedge,"  said  "Lone  Star,"  "Ah,  'spect  ye  want 
t'  hear  Avhy  Ah  didn't  make  no  move  in  th'  direction  o' 
ma  reputation — ain't  that  th'  kernel  o'  ycr  nut?" 

116 


VOICES  FROM  THE  ABYSS  117 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Colonel  Oglethorpe,  "that's  about 
it." 

"Well,  that's  a  dead  cinch,  Jedge — Ah  seen  th'  ranch 
go  up  an'  th'  coons  mixin'  wi'  th'  wreckage — Ah  seen 
the  boys  make  their  break  for  th'  fence.  Somethin' 
said  to  me — 'Lone  Star/  it  says,  'shuffle  the  cards  again 
an'  take  a  new  hand,  yer  luck  may  hit  a  new  trail.' 
So  Ah  folded  m'  arms  an'  stud  thar  like  Ah  was  Presi 
dent  o'  th'  Genessee  Company — that's  the  tale,  Jedge — 
it  ain't  got  no  moral  as  Ah  know  of." 

The  Commissioners  smiled — the  AVarden  and  depu 
ties  were  amused  and  nodded  to  each  other — "Lone 
Star"  was  excused  and  sent  back. 

"Why  did  you  stand  still?"  Ruden  asked  "Lone 
Star"  when  they  got  back  to  the  big  cell. 

"Ah  was  paralized,  boss — jest  paralized!" 

Jonathan  Sparks  refused  to  appear. 

"Dosza"  was  called.  He  took  a  handful  of  notes 
from  his  pocket.  They  were  pencilled  on  scraps  of  pa 
per  of  various  colors  and  qualities — they  were  num 
bered  and  in  order — he  set  them  on  the  table  before 
him  for  reference. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  Commission,"  Ruden  began,  "be 
fore  I  testify  as  to  what  I  know  of  the  events  leading 
up  to  the  explosion,  I  desire  to  make  a  request."  The 
voice  startled  the  Commissioners — the  Chairman  beck 
oned  for  the  Warden,  probably  for  the  record  of  this 
unusual  convict. 

"Proceed,"  he  said. 

"I  will  tell  the  truth  as  I  know  it  on  condition  that 
you  give  immediate  orders  that  I  be  transferred  to  an 
other  jail." 

"We  have  no  such  power,"  the  Commission  said. 

"Then  I  refuse  to  testify." 


118  THE  MAGYAR 

There  was  a  private  conference  and  later  a  telephone 
communication  with  the  Governor. 

"The  Governor,"  said  Colonel  Oglethorpe,  "will 
communicate  with  the  proper  authorities  and  have  you 
transferred,  probably — to-morrow. ' ' 

"Thank  you,"  Ruden  said,  and  proceeded. 

"There  is  a  sentiment  in  the  South  that  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  is  a  little  different — a  little  superior  to  the  Afri 
can  race.  AYhite  men  as  babes  suck  that  sentiment  at 
their  mother's  breasts.  It  is  woven  into  the  texture  of 
the  child's  speech  and  the  thinking  of  the  youth,  and 
at  maturity  it  has  a  large  place  in  the  life  of  the  domi 
nant  white  people.  The  sentiment  does  not  die  when 
clothed  in  convict  stripes.  In  the  old  slavery  the  lash 
was  applied  to  the  backs  of  the  black  men  only.  In  the 
industrial  slavery  of  to-day  it  is  applied  with  equal  bru 
tality  to  both  black  and  white.  The  Anglo-Saxon  does 
not  easily  accustom  himself  to  the  life  of  a  slave. 

"When  the  Southern  white  man  is  stretched  on  the 
floor  of  a  convict  cell — a  negro  on  his  shoulders  and 
one  on  his  legs  to  keep  him  down  while  he  is  flogged 
into  insensibility,  he  is  very  likely  on  recovery  to  fight 
back  with  a  stronger  weapon. 

"The  explosion  at  Bratt  City  was  the  result — partly 
of  the  lash  on  the  back  of  the  white  man.  I  consider 
that  the  chief  in  a  series  of  causes. 

"Another  of  the  causes  is  murder.  I  do  not  expect 
much  sympathy  when  I  speak  of  the  black  man,  but  I 
will  say  nevertheless  that  the  life  of  the  average  negro 
is  of  less  consequence  than  the  life  of  the  average  mule 
in  the  mines.  Negroes  have  been  murdered  by  the  lash, 
by  the  shotgun,  by  exposure,  by  disease  and  by  filth." 

"You  mean  murder  as  the  result  of  neglect,  I  pre 
sume,"  the  Chairman  interrupted. 


VOICES  FROM  THE  ABYSS  119 

"No,  not  that  exactly — the  Warden  and  the  doctor 
kicked  a  man  to  death  recently  and  they  have  done  it 
before.  I  saw  them  do  it,  and  got  Hogged  for  asking 
for  mercy  for  the  convict.  I  saw  the  "Warden  cut  deep 
tracks  in  the  man's  back  and  next  morning  the  doctor 
stuffed  the  bloody  gutter-ways  full  of  cotton — the  man, 
of  course,  died  in  the  mine  at  his  work. 

"Thirty  cents  a  day  is  allowed  for  each  man's  food, 
and  it  costs  the  caterer  just  five  cents  per  capita. 

"The  place  is  infested  with  rats,  mice  and  vermin. 

"Look  at  the  doctor's  report  for  last  year  and  see  the 
number  of  deaths  by  tuberculosis.  Instead  of  tackling 
'the  white  plague  as  a  man  of  science  would,  the  prison 
physician  sells  his  services  to  the  highest  bidder.  Any 
man  who  has  the  price  can  be  put  in  a  hospital  and 
when  the  Governor  comes  to  inspect  the  sick  he  finds 
none,  not  one.  Even  the  dying  are  stowed  away  until 
the  Governor's  party  departs  in  its  special  car. 

"Every  girl  and  every  woman  in  the  female  depart 
ment  is  used  for  immoral  purposes,  the  AVarden  has 
first  pick,  the  physician  second,  and  what's  left  the  dep 
uties  use. 

"The  most  comely  young  woman  that  ever  entered 
that  nursery  of  death  was  serving  a  sentence  of  two 
years.  She  bore  a  child  each  year  and  took  them  with 
her.  In  two  weeks  she  was  convicted  of  a  crime  that 
the  father  of  her  second  child  arranged  for  her.  She 
was  falsely  convicted  and  is  again  the  mistress  of  the 
same  brute." 

"Is  she  a  nigger?"  asked  the  Chairman. 

"Does  the  gentleman  mean  a  negress?" 

"Yes." 

' '  My  reply  is  :     She  is  a  woman. 

"The  flogging  of  men — white   men — takes   one   back 


120  THE  MAGYAR 

a  few  hundred  years,  but  what  shall  we  say  of  the  flog 
ging  of  women  in  the  State  of  Alabama? 

"We  have  heard  the  wild  screams  of  women  over  in 
our  cells  when  the  lash  like  a  snake  has  coiled  itself 
around  the  back  and  bitten  with  its  stinging  point  the 
bare  bosom  of  a  woman ! ' ' 

' '  Negresses — you  mean  ! ' ' 

"I  mean  women. 

"There  are  only  a  few  white  men  strong  enough  to 
mine  more  than  the  five  tons  required  each  day  but  there 
are  many  negroes  who  can.  For  each  ton  a  thirty  cent 
ticket  is  given.  The  deputies  have  been  systematically 
exploiting  and  robbing  these  men  of  their  hard  earned 
extras — that  might  be  expected,  but  the  most  aggra 
vated  case  that  came  to  my  notice  was  the  case  of  big 
Frank  Srnythe,  a  Canadian.  Frank  is  serving  a  ten- 
year  sentence— he  says  he  is  innocent  and  in  order  to 
attempt  to  get  a  new  trial  he  worked  for  nearly  three 
years  to  get  one  hundred  dollars  by  mining  extra  coal. 
He  got  his  money — at  least  he  got  a  hundred  dollars  out 
of  several  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  extra  labor  and  he 
went  into  the  AVarden's  office,  gave  the  hundred  dollars 
to  the  President  of  the  prison-board  to  get  a  new  hear 
ing." 

"Who  was  that?" 

"The  name  of  the  President  at  that  time  was  Llwel- 
lyn  Oglethorpe !" 

"You  are  a  liar,"  said  the  Chairman. 

"The  proofs  are  all  at  hand!"  Euden  retorted. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Colonel  Oglethorpe,  "I  am  but 
one  of  the  Commission,  but  I  object  to  the  further  hear 
ing  of  the  irresponsible  liar." 

"Let  him  finish,"  the  others  suggested  mildly. 

"I  have  almost  finished,  gentlemen.     Frank   Smythe 


VOICES  FROM  THE  ABYSS  121 

never  got  his  hearing  and  he  has  given  up  all  hope  of 
ever  seeing  his  money. 

"When  a  prophet  of  the  New  South  says  in  his  book, 
'Problems  of  the  Present  South/  that  the  chief  cause  of 
the  marvellous  industrial  development  of  the  South  is 
'its  cheap  and  tractable  labor,'  the  outside  world  is  ig 
norant  of  just  how  cheap  and  just  how  tractable  it  is. 
I  have  shown  you  how  it  is  made  tractable — how  the 
fortunes  of  the  Southern  aristocracy  are  replenished. 
Let  me  close  by  saying  that  despicable  as  is  the  petty 
grafting  on  the  lives  of  the  helpless  prisoners,  more  de 
spicable  still  is  the  chief  grafter  of  all — the  State  of 
Alabama,  the  machinery  of  whose  government  is  kept 
running  by  the  blood  of  her  most  helpless  citizens." 

The  inquiry  dragged  on  for  ten  days,  but  Ruden  had 
put  into  the  compass  of  a  few  minutes  the  gist  of  the 
testimony.  To  the  surprise  of  everybody  in  "one," 
the  Board  of  Pardons  paroled  "Lone  Star"  for  his  ex 
emplary  conduct  the  night  of  the  explosion. 

The  institution  was  too  much  in  the  lime  light  to 
harm  Ruden  for  his  revelation.  He  was  taken  the  fol 
lowing  day  to  a  private  stockade  in  Montgomery 
County. 

The  nerve  of  "Kentuck"  excited  the  admiration  of 
everybody  in  the  hospital.  They  knew  he  was  dying 
and  in  the  last  hours  no  slightest  wish  was  left  ungrati- 
fied.  Indeed,  he  had  but  one  wish.  It  was  to  see  the 
ex-parson  of  "one."  xVs  soon  as  Ruden  returned  to  his 
cell  from  the  investigation,  he  was  escorted  by  a  deputy 
to  the  cot  side  of  "Kentuck." 

"Parson,"  he  said,  "Ah've  staked  a  new  claim  an' 
Ah've  bin  a  hankerin'  t'  see  ye  fur  a  brief  spell  before 
Ah  begin  t'  prove  up  on  it." 

"Perhaps  there's  something  I  can  do,  'Kentuck'?" 


122  THE  MAGYAR 

"Ah've  thought  o'  that — Ah  can't  write  no  letters 
an'  there's  but  one  to  write  ef  Ah  could." 

"I  get  out  in  a  year  and  would  gladly  convey  a  per 
sonal  message  to  anyone — anywhere." 

"All,  ye've  got  a  line  on  m'  thinking."  "Kentuck" 
was  weakening  and  his  voice  was  feeble.  Ruden  sat 
beside  him  on  the  edge  of  the  cot.  The  physician  came 
along  and  seeing  " Kentuck V  visitor,  said:  "So  you 
are  the  guy  'Kentuck'  wanted  to  see,  hey?" 

There  was  no  reply. 

"Cut  it  short,  'Kentuck.'  I  don't  want  this  Dago 
around  no  more'n  I  can  help,  see?" 

"Taint  th'  Dago,  Doc;  its  th'  last  words  of  a  dying 
man  to  his  pal." 

"AYell,  cut  them  short,  that's  all." 

"Deputy,"  said  "Kentuck,"  "did  th'  AVarden  say 
Ah  cud  hev  my  wish?" 

"Sure  thing,  go  on." 

"Parson,  Ah  would  do  th'  same  thing  for  a  pal  as 
Ah  thought  anythin'  on — Ah  sho  would." 

"Have  no  fear,  'Kentuck.'  " 

"There's  a  mill  village  by  the  name  of  Arden  a  few 
miles  out  o'  Anniston — it's  a  small  place — a  grocery,  a 
church  and  the  big  mill.  On  the  north  edge,  at  the 
cross  roads,  there's  a  cottage — white,  wi'  a  magnoly  tree 
in  th'  yard:  Ax  fur  Nell. 

"Tell  'er  th'  night  we  slid  apart  somethin'  told  me 
we  should  never  meet  again — it  wuz  a  feelin'  like  death. 
Ah  took  th'  ol'  violin  over  th'  hill  t'  th'  grave-yard. 
It  wnz  moonlight — Ah  played  on  th'  lone  fence  some 
o'  th'  ol'  tunes  that  lister  bring  the  tears  to  'er  eyes. 
Ah  God,  them  eyes  o'  hern!  'Sweet  an'  low,'  was  the 
last  one  an'  th'  best — then  Ah  crushed  th'  fiddle  like  a 
match-box — dug  a  hole  be  the  big  pine  in,  th'  corner  an' 


VOICES  FROM  THE  ABYSS  123 

laid  it  there, — laid  it  like  a  dead  baby— then  I  done  all 
them  desperate  things  that  put  me  in  stripes  an'  irons. 
Ax  her  to  say  a  prayer  fur  Jim — ni'  name's  Jim  Peters. ' ' 
He  was  exhausted,  closed  his  eyes  and  for  a  moment 
was  silent. 

"Tell  'er,  Parson,"  he  said,  when  he  began  again,  "it 
wuz  all  a  mistake  them  notions  o'  hern  about  th'  color 
o'  a  man's  skin — it's  th'  heart  that  counts." 

"Come  on,"  the  deputy  said  impatiently,  "Ye've 
chewed  long  enough." 

"Kentuck's"  hand  was  already  relaxing  its  hold. 
Ruden  appealed  to  the  deputy  for  another  minute,  but 
was  hustled  away. 

"Good-bye,  'Kentuck,'  good-bye,"  he  said,  as  he 
pressed  the  hand  of  the  desperado,  but  there  was  no 
response.  Next  day,  Ruden,  chained  to  a  deputy,  was 
led  away  from  the  stockade.  As  he  passed  out  of  one 
gate  four  striped  pall-bearers  carried  the  remains  of 
"Kentuck"  out  of  another  to  the  woods  for  burial. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN   WHICH   MRS.    RUDEN   GETS   A   FULL   DRAUGHT   AT   THE 
FOUNTAIN   OF    LIFE 

CHRISTMAS  Eve,  1906,  AYetumpka  Mansion,  the  home 
of  the  Oglethorpes,  was  the  scene  of,  a  brilliant  ball.  It 
eclipsed  everything  of  the  kind  ever  held  in  the  State 
of  Alabama.  The  Governor,  Senators,  Congressmen  and 
Mayors  of  the  larger  cities  were  there,  so  were  the  de 
butantes  of  the  season  and  women  known  far  and  wide 
for  beauty  and  accomplishment.  Workmen  had  spent 
a  month  preparing  the  new  ball-room  and  many  of  the 
wealthy  \vomen  had  been  much  longer  in  the  prepara 
tion  of  the  expensive  and  elaborate  gowns,  detailed  de 
scriptions  of  which  were  in  the  newspaper  offices  a  week 
before  the  event  took  place.  A  French  hair-dresser  and 
a  manicurist  had  been  on  the  estate  for  a  week  getting 
Mrs.  Ruden  in  shape.  A  peep  into  Mrs.  Ruden's  room 
at  Wetumpka  would  have  astounded  her  acquaintances 
in  New  Oxford.  A  black  maid  had  been  employed  to 
attend  exclusively  to  the  care  of  her  skin.  She  was 
bathed  in  preparations,  pomaded,  cold-creamed,  mas 
saged  and  polished  with  the  care  given  the  mistress  of 
a  Medieval  King. 

"Dearie,"  said  Mrs.  Oglethorpe,  as  they  met  in  the 
hall  after  the  last  touch  to  her  toilet,  "You  look  like 
a  queen ! ' ' 

"You  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Ruden,  kissing  her  gently 
and  with  due  deference  to  that  last  touch,  "I  feel  like 
the  friend  of  one." 

124 


MRS.  RUDEN  GETS  A  FULL  DRAUGHT   125 

Mrs.  Oglethorpe  on  the  arm  of  the  Governor  led  the 
grand  march.  Mrs.  Ruden  and  the  host  came  next.  It 
was  the  first  time  in  fifteen  years  she  had  been  able  to 
show  her  lily  white  throat  and  the  light  pink  color  of 
her  finely  shaped  bosom.  A  New  York  dressmaker  had 
made  a  special  trip  to  prepare  the  gown.  The  Colonel 
looked  ten  years  less  than  his  age.  He  too  was  radiant. 
They  danced  the  first  dance  together  and  they  planned 
to  meet  again  at  the  third.  The  second  he  danced  with 
his  wife  and  Mrs.  Ruden  danced  with  the  Governor. 

At  the  close  of  the  third  dance  the  host  and  his  guest 
wandered  away  off  to  a  rustic  seat,  beneath  a  magnolia 
tree,  a  place  where,  the  Colonel  said,  ' '  There  was  always 
a  breeze  that  swept  in  out  of  the  valley. ' ' 

"I  saw  a  cloud  on  your  brow,  Madeline,  as  the  Gov 
ernor  seated  you  under  the  palm ;  what  was  it  ? " 

"Nothing  much." 

"A  regret?" 

"No,  not  that  exactly." 

"What  then?" 

"Lew,"  she  said,  "I  enjoy  this  to  the  full — almost." 

"Why  'almost'"?" 

"This  finery,  this  dress,  these  jewels,  I  would  give 
the  world  if  I  did  not  have  to  hide  in  my;  own  soul  their 
origin ! ' ' 

"Oh  rot,"  he  said,  "can't  you  have  a  little  present 
from  a  friend  without  publishing  it?" 

"I  could  if  Mabel  had  given  it — or  if  she  knew  about 
it!" 

"Well,  for  heaven's  sake,  dear,  don't  spoil  this  thing 
that  I  spent  two  months  planning  for  you.  This  entire 
thing  is  for  you, — you  only.  You  love  life,  full,  free, 
radiant,  joyful  life,  here  it  is!  drink  it  in  for  a  night. 
Let  it  be  the  nectar  of  the  gods  to  your  soul,  and  when 


126  THE  MAGYAR 

the  music  dies  down  and  the  lights  are  out,  let  us  look 
at  the  soberer  side  of  things."  He  put  his  hand  caress 
ingly  on  her  bare  white  shoulder.  As  he  did  so,  two 
young  people  tip-toed  under  the  tree  and  made  for  the 
rustic  bench.  It  was  young  Oglethorpe  and  the  Gov 
ernor's  daughter.  The  Colonel  turned  his  back  to  the 
newcomers  and  almost  pushed  his  companion  out  of  the 
shade  in  front  of  him. 

"I'm  not  the  only  one  here  who  knows  the  obscure 
corners,"  he  said  as  he  led  her  back  into  the  ball-room. 

They  Avere  joined  at  once  by  Mrs.  Oglethorpe — "My 
dear  girlie,"  she  said,  "you've  made  a  tremendous  hit 
with  the  Governor — he  blushed  like  a  girl  when  he 
asked  me  about  you — he  wants  another  dance — don't 
refuse — cut  somebody  else  out  and  I'll  soothe  down  the 
disappointed  one!" 

The  three  of  them  consulted  Mrs.  Ruden 's  card— 
""Well,"  she  said,  "the  only  one  that  can  be  smoothed 
over  is  Mr.  Atkins." 

"I'll  see  him  right  off,  dearie,  and  when  the  Gover 
nor  comes  show  him  the  change  on  your  card." 

"Mrs.  Ruden,"  the  Governor  said  as  he  passed,  but 
he  got  no  further.  "Mrs.  Oglethorpe  has  been  giving 
you  away,"  Mrs.  Ruden  said  smiling. 

"Murder  will  out"  he  said, — "but  really,  now,  how 
is  your  card,  Mrs.  Ruden?" 

"Well,  I  have  just  wiped  out  the  name  of  an  ardent 
young  scion  of  a  Southern  family  and  substituted  for 
it  the  sire  of  another."  He  looked  over  her  shoulder 
and  smiled  as  he  saw  his  name. 

"Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  are  as  kind  as  you  are 
beautiful,  and  I  am  encouraged  to  hope  that  your  stay 
in  the  South  is  an  indefinite  one — is  it?" 

"Well,  I  am  to  be  here  the  rest  of  the  winter,  anyway. " 


MRS.  RUDEN  GETS  A  FULL  DRAUGHT   127 

"Splendid!"  he  exclaimed.  "Now  we've  been  talk 
ing  of  an  affair  such  as  this — not  an  inaugural  sort  of 
thing,  for  there  one  has  to  invite  everybody — but  a  ball 
where  we  can  invite  the  folks  we  know — really  know 
and  love — don't  you  know?" 

"I  understand,"  she  said. 

"I  want  you  to  know  my  family — they  too  will  be  as 
glad  as  I  to  have  you  grace  our  ball,  and  if  the  Ogle- 
thorpes  can  spare  you  to  come  and  stay  awhile — 

"You  are  very  kind,  Governor, — I  am  sure  the  pleas 
ure  will  be  mutual." 

"You  art  melting  here,"  he  said  as  he  took  her  arm 
and  led  her  into  the  garden.  They  passed  Mrs.  Ogle- 
thorpe  and  the  women  exchanged  glances  as  intelligent 
as  speech. 

"If  I  knew  this  garden  as  well  as  you  do."  he  said, 
' '  I  would  take  you  to  a  quiet,  cosey  corner  where  you 
might  really  rest  and  be  undisturbed  for  the  interval." 

"And  what  would  you  do  with  the  interval?" 

"I  would  double,  treble,  quadruple  it — I  would  make 
the  interval  all — the  whole  thing  ! ' ' 

"Oh,  you  men!" 

' '  And  you  women  ! ' ' 

"Are  you  well  acquainted  with  French  history,  Gov 
ernor  ? ' ' 

"Not  very." 

"I  wanted  to  ask  a  question  that  has  been  in  my 
mind  for  years." 

"Ask  it  anyway. " 

"The  reformers  have  splashed  history  red  with 
blood — they  have  made  life  a  vale  of  tears  and  I  have 
always  imagined  that  the  mistress  of  an  autocrat  or  a 
demagogue  could  accomplish  more  reforms  than  Jeanne 
d'  Arc  or  the  reformers!  "What  do  you  think?" 


128  THE  MAGYAR 

"You  will  pardon  me  if  I  appear  to  be  a  pagan  in 
my  answer,  but  I  think  a  man  who  has  a  beautiful  wife 
is  a  fool  to  be  a  reformer ! ' ' 

They  were  walking  slowly  along,  arm  in  arm,  in  the 
darkness. 

"Why?"  she  asked. 

"Take  me  to  a  cosey  seat  and  I'll  tell  you!"  he  an 
swered. 

They  reached  the  seat  where  the  Colonel  and  she  had 
ensconced  themselves  earlier  in  the  evening. 

"Here,"  she  said,  "is  the  quietest  place  in  the 
garden,  but  we  must  not  stay  more  than  a  minute." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  be  personal  in  that  partial  an 
swer  to  your  question — but  the  Colonel  hinted  that  your 
husband  was  a  reformer,  and  instantly  there  came  up 
before  me  half-a-dozen  poverty-stricken  growlers  who 
try  to  make  life  miserable  for  such  men  as  Oglethorpe 
and  myself." 

"Enlarge  on  your  partial  answer  to  my  question." 

"Well,  when  a  man  whose  wealth  consists  of  a  chicken 
coop  starts  out  to  reform  my  business  I  fight  him,  and 
just  because  I  have  been  successful  I  can  beat  him,  but 
what  is  business  to  a  man  when  he  meets  a  woman  of 
such  charms  as  you  possess?" 

Mrs.  Ruden  laughed.  It  was  hearty  and  forced  her 
companion  to  probe  after  its  origin. 

"Oh,"  she  said  languidly  in  answer  to  his  question, 
"I  was  thinking  of  the  original  Salome  dance." 

"Well,  as  I  am  not  acquainted  with  the  copies  even, 
I  am  still  at  a  loss  to  know." 

The  Governor  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  entrance 
into  the  bower  of  a  couple  who  seemed  familiar  with 
the  place.  They  arose  to  go,  but  the  newcomers  wheeled 
around  and  retraced  their  steps. 


MRS.  RUDEX  GETS  A  FULL  DRAUGHT   129 

"The  next  number  is  called,"  Mrs.  Ruden  said,  "and 
I  am  in  disgrace — my  partner  will  be  waiting." 

"Then  we  will  talk  the  matter  out  later — I  will  count 
the  seconds  till  I  feel  the  touch  of  your  arm  again." 

He  caressed  the  arm  gently.  His  speech  had  the 
flavor  and  passion  of  youth,  and  as  he  left  her  at  the 
ball-room  door  he  kissed  her  hand,  with  the  grace  of  a 
knight,  and  was  gone. 

"You  look  radiant,  Madeline,"  were  the  first  words 
of  her  hostess,  who  had  been  watching  her. 

"I  am,  dearie." 

"Isn't  the  Governor  charming?" 

"He's  a  man,  Mabel." 

"You  didn't  tell  him  that,  I  hope!" 

"Oh,  no — I  just  rambled  along  with  him." 

"Where?" 

"I  mean  mentally,   dear." 

"He's  perfectly  silly  over  you!" 

The  dance  was  in  progress.  She  had  arrived  late  for 
it,  but  was  not  kept  waiting  long. 

To  a  person  who  had  been  pent  up  with  children  and 
problems  of  all  kinds  this  freedom  was  an  intoxication 
—the  music — the  wrell  dressed  men  and  women — the 
color  schemes — the  abnormal  mental  atmosphere. 
Every  new  partner  was  a  hidden  fire  with  which  she 
liked  to  play.  It  was  so  exciting  to  get  near  the  edge 
— to  fence  writh  mental  foils — to  talk  in  veiled  speech — 
to  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread  and  enjoy  the  ex 
citement. 

Mrs.  Ruden 's  partner  in  the  third  dance  was  Colonel 
Oglethorpe — they  whirled  around  for  a  few  minutes 
and  then  disappeared.  Only  one  person  watched  their 
movements. 

"This  is  insanity,   Lew,"   she   said,    as   they  seated 


130  THE  MAGYAR 

themselves  on  the  bench  in  the  obscure  corner.  "Scores 
of  people  are  around — \ve  have  all  the  time  there  is, 
but  this  is  your  guests'  time." 

"True,"  he  said,  "very  true,  but  I  don't  see  you 
every  day  in  that  dress,  and  I  want  to  feast  my  eyes  on 
what  it  doesn't  cover." 

"Then  the  light  ought  to  suit  you  better." 

"AVell,  it  does  and  it  doesn't.  T  have  not  taken  my 
eyes  off  you  since  the  ball  begun.  I  have  compared  you 
with  the  loveliest  of  the  debutantes — they  are  not  in  it 
with  you." 

Madeline  lay  back  and  spread  her  white  arms  along 
the  back  of  the  seat.  He  turned  partly  around  toward 
her  and  ran  his  hand  softty  along  her  arm.  "There  is 
a  subtlety  in  your  charm,"  he  said,  "that  thrills  me 
with  the  ecstasy  of  a  god."  Then  the  hand  expressed 
a  little  more  of  the  state  of  his  mind.  AVhen  it  did  so 
she  arose  hastily — she  thought  she  heard  footsteps  ap 
proaching,  but  before  she  could  speak  he  had  caught 
her  full  in  his  arms,  and  holding  her  as  if  she  were  a 
child  of  ten  he  kissed  her  passionately  until  a  faint  cry 
escaped  her  lips — the  cry  of  a  soul  in  pain.  Her  body 
began  to  relax  and  he  laid  her  gently  on  the  seat  again. 
As  he  did  so  a  woman  emerged  from  behind  the  big 
magnolia  and  stood  for  an  instant  in  the  shadow. 
Madeline  saw  her  and  clutched  her  companion  tightly 
by  the  arm.  The  figure  stood  but  an  instant  and  then 
vanished. 

"My  God!"  she  exclaimed,  "howtcan  I  go  back  into 
the  light?  My  face  burns— I  am  so  faint!  Oh!" 

He  stood  in  front  of  her  vigorously  plying  a  fan. 
"  Go  ! "  she  said — ' '  go  back  to  your  guests  and  leave  me. ' ' 

"I  can't  leave  you,  Madeline!" 

"Go!     I  tell  you!" 


MRS.  RUDEN  GETS  A  FULL  DRAUGHT   131 

He  laid  the  fan  in  her  lap  and  went  back  into  the 
crowd. 

"Hello,  Dad!"  said  the  Colonel's  second  son  as  he 
met  his  father.  "Mam's  sick  as  a  horse  and  gone  to  lie 
down — headache  or  something.  You'd  better  go  and 
see  her!"  and  he  passed  out  into  the  garden. 

A  few  minutes  later  Mrs.  Ruden  entered  the  ball-room 
and  found  the  Governor  waiting  his  number  on  her 
card. 

As  she  fell  easily  into  the  rhythmic  swing  of  the  music 
in  the  arms  of  her  partner,  she  was  radiant  with  the  joy 
of  living.  If  there  was  any  regret  in  her  soul  her  face 
did  not  show  it.  Around  the  spacious  ball-room  they 
danced  with  litheness,  dignity  and  hauteur.  Their 
every  movement  was  watched,  and  when  they  left  the 
warm  glow  of  the  room  for  the  cool  shade  in  the  garden 
they  were  followed  by  the  eyes  of  at  least  half-a-dozen 
curious  women. 

' '  Let  us  see, ' '  said  the  Governor  as  soon  as  they  wrere 
seated,  "we  were  talking  of  reform  and  reformers, 
weren't  we?" 

"No,  it  was  a  question  of  methods  we  were  discuss 
ing." 

"Fair  lady,"  said  the  Governor,  "let  us  not  w^aste 
golden  moments  with  leaden  subjects.  To-night  we 
drink  the  old  wine— the  wine  of  the  gods,  and  to-mor 
row  wear  off  the  intoxication  on  work — sordid  work. ' ' 

"That  applies  only  to  workers — what  wyill  the  drones 
do?" 

"Wear  theirs  off  on  the  workers,  I  reckon." 

"In  ethics,  Governor,"  Mrs.  Ruden  said,  "what  is 
golden  to  one  person  may  be  leaden  to  another.  Isn't 
that  so?" 

"But,   my   dear,    pardon   me,   it's   peculiarly  a   New 


132  THE  MAGYAR 

England  trait  to  discuss  ethics  at  a  ball — in  the 
South—" 

"In  the  South,"  she  interrupted,  "on  such  occasions 
you  are  more  French  than  the  Parisians." 

"If  by  'French'  you  mean  a  survival  of  chivalry,  I 
plead  guilty." 

"Do  you  know  Don  Quixote?"  she  asked. 

"No,  he's  a  new  one  on  me,"  he  said  laughing,  "but 
I  know  something  of  Don  Juan." 

They  were  interrupted,  but  neither  of  them  desired  to 
take  advantage  of  the  intrusion. 

"I  have  something  to  suggest,"  he  said,  as  they  re 
gained  their  composure,  "and  if  I  don't  say  it  now  my 
chance  will  be  lost." 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  better  lost." 

"I  don't  think  so — anyway  I  will  venture  it.  Now 
look  here,  Mrs.  Ruden :  My  wife  and  daughter  want 
you  to  make  us  a  visit  before  you  go  North  again,  and 
if  you  are  interested  in  any  reforms  just  let  me  know 
and  see  how  quickly  they  can  be  put  into  effect.  Will 
you  come?" 

"You  offer  tremendous  inducements." 

"Will  you  come?" 

"I'll  think  it  over." 

"You'll  let  me  know?" 

"Certainly." 

lie  took  her  hand  tenderly  in  both  of  his  and  raised 
them  to  his  lips,  then  led  her  back  slowly  into  the  light. 

"Run  upstairs  and  see  Mabel,"  Colonel  Oglethorpe 
whispered  as  he  passed  her  in  the  hall. 

The  bed-room  door  was  locked  and  the  colored  serv 
ant  said  that  her  mistress  was  asleep. 

When  she  returned  to  the  hall  some  of  the  bloom  of 
youth  had  gone  from  her  face.  It  wasn't  merely  a  shut 


MRS.  RUDEX  GETS  A  FULL  DRAUGHT  133 

door  that  kept  her  from  her  friend  but  a  high  stone 
wall — a  wall  she  had  built  with  her  own  hands.  She 
searched  the  crowd  for  her  host  and  when  she  found 
him  she  poured  into  his  ear  her  forebodings. 

"Lew,"  she  said,  "my  heart  feels  like  stone — cold 
and  hard.  I  believe  Mabel  saw  us  in  the  arbor." 

"Humbug!  dear,"  he  said,  "dismiss  it  from  your 
mind,  and  for  heaven's  sake,  let  love  dominate  you  as  it 
did  an  hour  ago." 

"I  am  not  blaming  anyone — I'm  looking  for  sym 
pathy,  Lew." 

"Sympathy  is  a  weak  word  in  this  case;  you  are — 
he  lowered  his  voice'  and  looked  into   her  eyes — "you 
are  looking  for  love,  and  there's  an  ocean  of  it  around 
you!" 

The  Governor  and  his  family  were  saying  good-bye 
to  all  around ;  as  he  approached,  Mrs.  Ruden  said  in  an 
undertone,  "Here  comes  old  Lochinvar. " 

"Ah,  Governor,"  Colonel  Oglethorpe  said  as  he  ex 
tended  his  hand,  "THiat  a  tyrant  is  time— so  you  are 
going?" 

"I  disagree,"  said  his  excellency — "Time  is  my 
friend ;  he  has  kept  the  best  of  life  until  this  hour  for 
me." 

""We  want  you  to  come  to  us  for  a  few  weeks,"  the 
Governor's  wife  said  in  her  most  charming  manner  to 
Mrs.  Ruden,  and  the  daughter  added  her  plea  to  the 
invitation. 

It  was  like  the  opening  of  one  door  as  another  closed 
to  the  guest  of  "Wetumpka  Mansion,  for  a  secret  dread 
was  eating  at  her  heart,  and  quenched  the  flames  in  her 
eyes  that  had  made  her  the  most  charming  personality 
of  the  occasion. 

One    after    another    the    guests    departed — many    of 


134  THE  MAGYAR 

them  lingering  around  for  a  final  word  with  the  Col 
onel's  guest. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  long  program  only  a  dozen 
couples  remained.  Mrs.  Ruden  excused  herself  and 
went  to  her  room.  The  Colonel  took  her  arm  and  led 
her  to  the  top  of  the  first  floor  landing.  Then  like  a 
hunted  animal  she  rushed  to  her  room.  Her  first  im 
pulse  was  to  throw  herself  on  her  bed  just  as  she  was, 
but  instead  she  turned  all  the  lights  on  and  viewed  her 
self  in  the  great  pier  mirror  that  almost  covered  one 
end  of  the  room.  "So  that  is  what  held  men's  atten 
tion,"  she  muttered  as  she  looked  at  her  bare  shoulders 
and  arms.  Then  she  moved  closer  and  looked  into  her 
own  eyes.  She  thought  she  saw  deep  rings  around 
them,  but  she  knew  that  they  had  lost  much  of  their 
lustre  in  the  last  hour.  Her  mind  was  a  question  mark 
and  her  heart  was  full  of  doubt  and  foreboding.  Mabel 
was  in  perfect  health — in  perfect  spirits — a  few  min 
utes  before  it  was  announced  that  she  was  ill.  Some 
one  was  in  the  vicinity  of  the  arbor  when  her  host  made 
his  passionate  outburst  of  affection.  She  thought  of 
the  Governor  and  his  effusive  attentions;  she  thought 
of  her  minor  partners  in  the  program — married  and  un 
married. 

On  the  mantel-piece  stood  portraits  of  her  husband 
and  children.  She  went  over  and  looked  at  them.  As 
she  put  back  her  husband's  portrait  she  turned  his  face 
to  the  wall.  She  saw  a  sternness  that  made  her  uneasy. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TROUBLE    IN    BLACK    AND    WHITE 

A  COLORED  maid  came  to  undress  and  bathe  her.  Mrs. 
Ruden  resigned  herself  to  the  care  of  the  black  woman 
and  lay  languid  and  limp. 

"Honey,  yo'  is  sho'ly  tired,"  said  the  maid. 

"Yes,  Dinah.  I  am.  tired  in  my  body,  tired  in  my 
mind,  tired  in  my  heart." 

"Sakes  alive,  Missus,  dat's  the  wust  case  of  down-an- 
outness  Ah've  heered  on  fur  quite  a  spell." 

"You  never  get  tired  in  that  way,  do  you  Dinah?" 

" What's  d'  use!" 

"You  have  no  trouble  of  any  kind?" 

"Trouble's  different,  honey.'*' 

"What  kind  of  trouble  have  you,  Dinah?" 

"  \Yus'n  you  hev,  honey." 

"Tell  me  about  it?" 

"Tain't  like  white  folks'  trouble." 

' '  How  do  you  know  ? ' ' 

"Ha,  ha,"  tittered  Dinah,  "bekase  Ah'm  black." 

Dinah  hummed  in  a  low  tone,  a  plantation  melody,  as 
she  performed  the  last  services  of  the  day.  Mrs.  Ruden 
had  shut  her  eyes,  and  Dinah,  thinking  she  was  asleep, 
began  to  act  on  the  thought. 

"Dinah,  I  can't  go  to  sleep  until  I  compare  your 
trouble  with  mine.  Tell  me  some  of  the  things  that 
make  you  cry." 

"Honey,"  Dinah  said,  laughing,  "Ah  crys  as  Ah 
blush— in  d'  inards. " 

135 


136  THE  MAGYAR 

It  seemed  a  hopeless  task  to  probe  further,  but  tired 
as  she  was,  she  was  groping  after  a  crumb  of  comfort 
and  she  imagined  it  could  be  found  in  the  white  heart 
of  her  black  maid. 

Dinah's  task  was  about  completed;  she  had  gathered 
up  the  paraphernalia  and  was  arranging  the  pillows, 
when  Mrs.  Ruden  made  a  last  appeal. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you  one  of  my  troubles,  Dinah, 
and  you  will  tell  me  one  of  yours;  then  we  will  go  to 
sleep." 

"Don't  yo'  want  me  t'  put  yo'  to  sleep  wif  a  line  of 
a  hymn  instead,  honey?" 

AVithout  answering  Mrs.  Ruden  pointed  to  the  pho 
tographs  on  the  mantel-piece — "Bring  them  over  to  me, 
Dinah."  The  four  cards  were  brought.  Mrs.  Ruden 
sat  up  and  made  Dinah  sit  beside  her  on  the  bed. 
"These  are  my  babies,  Dinah.  I  love  them  with  my 
whole  soul — this  is  my  husband — isn't  he  fine  looking?" 

"Does  yo'  lob  yo'  man,  too?"  Dinah  asked. 

"AVell,  that's  my  trouble:  he  was  always  wanting  one 
thing  and  I  was  always  wanting  another." 

"All  famblies  are  tarred  with  that  same  stick,  honey. 
Dere  nevah  wuz  since  cl'  wurld  began  a  white  fambly 
what  didn't  git  mussed  up  wif  dat  same  trouble." 

"What  do  black  families  get  mussed  up  with?"  was 
the  next  question  put  to  Dinah,  but  she  hedged  again. 

"I  don't  believe  you  have  a  care  or  a  trouble  of  any 
kind,  Dinah,  but  if  I  could  be  like  you  I  would  be  will 
ing  to  be  as  black  as  you  are!" 

Dinah  looked  sad.  She  was  silent  for  a  moment, 
then  she  got  down  on  her  knees,  put  her  clasped  hands 
on  her  Mistress's  knees  and  said,  "Ef  yo'  won't  nevah 
tell  nobody  Ah '11  tell  yo'  what  makes  Dinah  cry." 

"I  promise,  Dinah." 


TROUBLE  IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE         137 

"Cross  yo'  heart  an'  say  'Lordy'  three  times  run- 
nin'." 

"Honey,"  she  began  -when  the  conditions  had  been 
complied  with — "Yo'  troubles  ain't  ez  big  ez  'skeeter 
bites,  dey  sho  ain't." 

"Ef  yo'  had  two  nice  chillun  what  seen  der  father 
ev'ry  day  an'  caint  nevah  know  dat  he  is — nor  call 
'ini  'daddy'  yo'd  be  a  sight  wuss  orf — wudn't  you'?" 

"Poor  Dinah,"  Mrs.  Ruden  said  as  she  stroked  the 
rough  black  hands,  "of  course  I  would." 

"An'  ef  yo'  pass'd  d'  daddy  ob  yo7  pickaninnies 
fo'ty  times  a  day  an'  yo'  caiiit  show  dat  he  is,  wudn't 
yo'  simper  bewiles  when  yo'  wuz  all  alonie?" 

"You  blessed  girl,  I  would  die  of  a  broken  heart!" 

Dinah  felt  the  sympathy  intensely — tears  came  to  her 
eyes  but  she  made  her  point  by  saying:  "Dat's  black 
folks'  trouble,  honey." 

Long  after  Dinah  had  gone  the  minister's  wife,  un 
able  to  sleep,  kept  muttering  to  herself:  "Black  folks' 
trouble,  black  folks'  trouble." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A    RACIAL    PARIAH    AND    A    SOCIAL    OUTCAST 

THREE  hundred  yards  from  the  Mansion,  in  a  row  of 
straggling  shacks  lived  a  hundred  men  rented  from  the 
State.  Two-thirds  of  them  were  black.  At  five  o'clock 
on  the  morning  after  the  ball  ten  white  convicts  were 
detailed  to  clean  up  the  lawn  and  rake  the  walks. 

Dinah  left  her  Mistress's  room  at  four  and  the  chain 
gang  arrived  a  little  after  five.  Mrs.  linden,  had  heard 
the  chains  before,  but  the  morning  after  the  ball  the 
sounds  grated  on  her  nerves.  Sleep  was  out  of  the 
question.  She  stuffed  her  ears  with  absorbent  cotton 
but  the  sounds,  though  somewhat  deadened,  were  still 
distinct  enough  to  be  heard  inside  the  house.  She 
walked  up  and  down  her  room  hoping  every  minute 
that  the  gang  would  finish  its  work  and  go.  She  opened 
the  door  softly  and  looked  outside.  All  was  still. 

Colonel  Oglethorpe's  room  was  directly  opposite: 
Mabel 's  was  next  the  guest  chamber.  She  went  back 
into  her  room — sat  down  at  the  desk  and  scribbled  a 
note: 

"For  God's  sake  -send  those  convicts  away — the  rat 
tling  of  their  chains  will  drive  me  mad!'' 

She  stopped — looked  around,  chewed  the  tip  of  the 
pen  holder  for  a  few  minutes  in  deep  meditation.  lie 
had  spent  two  months  getting  up  the  ball.  He  had 
spent  thousands  of  dollars  in  jewelry,  dress  and  per 
sonal  service — it  was  all  so  brilliant  and  so  successful. 
He  would  expect  congratulation,  thanks  and  gratitude. 

138 


A  EACIAL  PARIAH  AND  SOCIAL  OUTCAST    139 

No,  that  note  was  out  of  the  question.     She  tore  it  up 
and  threw  it  in  the  waste  paper  basket  and  began  again. 

"My  dear — 

"Last  night  I  put  the  goblet  to  my  lips  and  took  a  full 
draught  of  life.  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  enough  ? ' ' 

The  chains  had  ceased  clanking.  She  opened  the 
window  and  looked  out.  Only  two  convicts  remained, 
and  they  were  washing  glass. 

There  was  no  need  now  of  any  note — still  he  would 
be  glad  of  even  this  and  so  early — if  it  could  only  be 
conveyed  safely  to  him.  It  was  vague  and  indefinite 
enough  and  yet  just  what  a  man,  under  the  circum 
stances,  would  conjure  to  his  soul. 

The  note  was  folded — enclosed  in  an  envelope  with 
out  a  name. 

Again  the  door  was  softly  opened.  This  time  a  black 
boy  was  coining  downstairs.  Before  he  had  reached 
the  second  floor  she  had  gotten  into  a  kimona  and  was 
at  the  door. 

Rather  by  motions  than  by  words  she  directed  the 
boy  to  put  the  note  under  the  Colonel's  door  and  knock. 

"Come  in!"  she  said,  five  minutes  later  in  answer  to 
what  she  thought  was  the  knock  of  Dinah,  and  in  came 
her  hostess. 

"You  dear  girl!"  said  Mrs.  Oglethorpe.  "I  just  got 
your  note  and  read  it  to  Lew.  We  are  of  course  de 
lighted  that  you  had  a  good  time.  I  am  going  to  see 
that  you  have  another  '  draught '  before  you  leave  us ! " 
Mrs.  Oglethorpe  laughed,  but  to  her  friend  there  was  a 
sepulchral  tone  that  could  not  be  mistaken.  Was  this 
a  master  play? — she  wondered,  or  was  it  some  deep 
hidden  sorrow?  They  lay  beside  each  other  on  the 


1-40  THE  MAGYAR 

bed  and  talked  for  an  hour — talked  of  the  ball  and  the 
guests,  but  the  note  was  referred  to  but  once  again. 

"Just  before  I  got  your  note,"  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  said, 
"I  was  reading  the  diary  I  kept  when  you  and  I  were 
in  school  together  dreaming  our  dreams  and  building 
our  air  castles — do  you  remember,  Madeline,  what  our 
ideas  were  then?" 

"Yes,  I  kept  a  diary,  too,  as  you  must  remember, 
and  hundreds  of  times  during  the  past  ten  years  I  have 
perused  it  with  interest  and  wonder." 

"Let  me  bring  mine  in,"  Mabel  said  as  she  put  her 
slippers  on.  In  a  few  minutes  she  returned  with  the 
faded  book. 

"January  first,  1880,"  she  read  smilingly.  "Made 
line  and  I  cannot  agree.  She  wants  an  idealist  for  a 
husband,  I  want  a  society  man — accomplished,  well- 
dressed,  well  bred  and  with  a  fortune !  Both  are  rare, 
but  I  shall  die  an  old  maid  if  I  don't  get  my  ideal — 
That's  what  Madeline  says  about  her  ideal  also!"  The 
wromen  laughed  and  looked  at  each  other.  "Well," 
Madeline  said,  "we  both  got  what  wre  set  our  hearts  on 
—didn't  we?" 

"I  wonder  why  it  is,"  Mabel  said,  as  if  she  hadn't 
heard  her  friend's  question,  "that  maturity  always 
brings  such  a  cloak  of  reserve — we  call  it  reserve — it's 
more  like  hypocrisy?" 

"Does  it  always?" 

"Well,  here  we  are — you  and  I,  friends — intimate 
friends  all  our  lives,  and  when  we  talk  we  fence  and 
cover  in  the  most  subtle  manner  our  real  lives.  You 
got  sick  of  your  idealist  because  you  nearly  starved  and  I 
am  sick  of  society  because  I  am  surfeited!  Isn't  that 
so?" 

"It  isn't  really  because  you  are  surfeited,  dear!" 


A  RACIAL  PARIAH  AND  SOCIAL  OUTCAST    141 

"Yes,  Madeline,  it  is.  I  am  surfeited  of  sham — of 
social  veneer — of  make-believe  life — of  oppression  of  the 
poor — of  the  clothes  wrung  out  of  the  blood  of  the 
Avorkers ! ' ' 

"Dearie,  that  sounds  like  what  I  have  listened  to  for 
a  dozen  years.  It's  easy  for  you  to  say  it,  but  wrhen  it 
costs  comfort  to  say,  it's  not  so  easy." 

"Madeline,  dear,  let  us  just  for  once  in  our  maturity 
be  as  we  were  when  we  were  girls  together — let  us  speak 
the  truth.  Now,  what  does  life  mean  to  you?  I  mean 
what  is  the  purpose  of  it.  What  are  you  driving  at?" 

"Well,  first  of  all  its  physical — when  the  physical 
needs  are  supplied,  its  mental  and  after  that  its  spir 
itual.  I  loathe  poverty  and  it  makes  me  loathsome  to 
others ! ' ' 

"Life  to  you,  then,  is  first  a  thing  of  the  senses,  then 
a  thing  of  the  soul — is  that  it?" 

"That  is  one  way  of  putting  it." 

The  friends  looked  at  each  other  and  each  knew 
that  there  was  a  point  beyond  which  they  could  not  go. 
There  was  a  life  behind  life,  that  was  walled  in.  They 
were  like  fencers,  playing  for  an  opening,  or  generals 
making  flank  movements.  Both  were  playing  a  big 
game  and  neither  of  them  showed  their  trump  cards. 

Dinah  knocked  and  was  admitted.  Mrs.  Oglethorpe 
ordered  coffee  and  toast  for  two.  When  the  door 
closed  she  took  Madeline's  hand  in  hers  and  said: 
"You  know,  dear,  that  both  here  and  in  Washington 
we  mingle  with  what  is  called  'Society' — I  mention  this 
to  remind  you  that  we  know  what  you  call  'the  higher 
life.'  I  know  hundreds  of  men — good  men,  too,  but  of 
all  I  know  only  two  excite  my  admiration  and  command 
my  respect. 

"One  of  them  is  our  landscape  gardener,   a  negro, 


142  THE  MAGYAR 

and  the  other  is  a  gentleman  of  the  type  of  Christ — 
lie  is  a  convict!" 

"A  negro  and  a  convict!" 

"Yes,  one  a  racial  pariah  and  the  other  a  social  out 
cast!" 

"I  am  astonished—  '  Madeline  said.  "I  would  like 
to  know  more  about  them — why  are  they  where  they 
are?" 

"A  more  important  question  is — 'being  where  they 
are,  why  are  they  what  they  are?'  : 

"Tell  me  something  about  the  convict,  Mabel." 

' '  He  has  been  here  but  a  short  time.  One  day  I  was 
in  my  hammock  under  the  trees  and  I  overheard  a  con 
versation  between  the  convict  and  the  gardener.  I 
was  astonished  beyond  measure — the  rich,  musical  voice 
— the  lofty  ideals — I  never  heard  such  a  conversation ! 
I  inquired  and  found  that  since  he  came  there  has  been 
no  disorder — before  he  came  they  had  to  be  whipped — 
some  of  them  were  whipped  every  day.  From  what  I 
have  heard  of  his  sweetness  of  character — his  powerful 
spiritual  influence,  I  would  rather  be  the  wife  of  such  a 
man  than  'the  first  lady  of  the  land,'  so  called." 
Mabel's  voice  was  tense  with  subdued  feeling. 

"What  my  husband  would  ask  about  such  a  man  is 
whether  he  has  taken  the  spmik  out  of  his  comrades 
or  taken  the  cruelty  out  of  Capitalism?" 

"He  has  helped  the  men  and  he  has  made  us  more 
human." 

"What  does  Lew  think  of  him,  Mabel?" 

"Lew  never  saw  him — we  cannot  interest  him  in  the 
man — he  says  it's  'nigger  religion'  and  flew  into  a  vio 
lent  passion  when  I  expressed  the  hope  that  he  would 
get  some  of  it." 

When  Mrs.  Ruden  found  herself  alone  with  Dinah, 


A  RACIAL  PARIAH  AND  SOCIAL  OUTCAST    143 

she  probed  a  little  further  into  the  story  of  the  con 
vict's  life. 

"Ah  knows  noffin'  'cept  what  Willyum  says,"  Dinah 
said  in  answer  to  the  first  question.  "Willyum,  d' 
head  gardner— he  say  'Lijah's  d'  mos'  religionist  white 
man  that  he  evah  see." 

"His  name's  Elijah,  then?" 

"Yes'm,  dat's  what  dey  calls  him,  but  taint  his  real 
name." 

"Have  you  seen  him,  Dinah?" 

"Ah  ain't  seen  him — but  Ah  done  gone  heer'd  him 
clinkity  clankity  every  rnawnin'  outside  d'  kitching. " 

"How  do  you  know  it's  Elijah?" 

"Dey  don't  'How  none  of  de  oders  aroun'.  Some 
times  he's  wid  a  niggah — mostimes  wid  hisself. " 

"Do  the  black  folks  like  him?" 

"Dey  do  an'  den  again  dey  don't.  Bof  black  an' 
white  like  him  at  story  tellin'  an'  candle  lightin'  time, 
but  they  caint  steal  even  a  pin  head  or  a  yam  wen  he's 
about." 

Half  a  do/en  of  the  guests  had  stayed  over  and  when 
"breakfast  was  announced  fifteen  people  gathered  around 
the  table. 

They  were  tired  people,  some  of  them  were  haggard 
and  bore  visible  signs  of  the  strain  of  the  big  night. 
The  adjectives  were  soon  exhausted  in  praise  of  the 
brilliant  function.  It  was  forced  praise,  of  course,  and 
did  not  deceive  anyone.  The  Oglethorpes  smiled  and 
chatted  as  became  the  occasion,  but  to  both  of  them 
something  had  happened  over  night  that  made  them 
uneasy  in  each  other's  presence.  Both  were  determined 
that  no  sign  should  escape  them  of  the  turbulent  waters 
of  the  inner  life  that  seethed  and  boiled  as  they  faced 
each  other  at  breakfast,  The  keenest  and  most  anxious 


144  THE  MAGYAR 

reader  of  faces  was  Mrs.  Ruden.  She  watched  her 
hostess  closely.  Whatever  had  happened  had  been 
forced  upon  her — that's  how  she  put  the  situation  to 
her  own  soul,  and  while  it  was  not  wholly  satisfactory, 
it  gave  her  a  degree  of  complacency  that  surprised  her 
at  one  time  and  shocked  her  at  another.  Over  and  over 
again  she  recalled  the  discussion  of  the  morning,  try 
ing  to  find  some  clue  to  a  hidden  purpose.  "If  Mabel 
knows  the  facts  about  the  note,"  she  thought,  "she  is 
playing  a  game  utterly  foreign  to  her  character." 

She  had  no  chance  to  compare  notes  with  the 
Colonel.  Of  one  thing  she  was  sure;  her  visit  had  been 
shortened  by  months  in  the  last  twenty-four  hours. 
Xo  program  had  been  formulated  in  her  mind.  She 
was  feeling  the  social  pulse  and  it  was  quickening  her 
— bringing  into  play  subtle  elements  at  the  depth  of 
her  nature.  Occasionally  the  face  of  Stephen  Ruden 
came  into  mental  view — it  was  a  face  full  of  sorrow  and 
pain,  but  it  passed  quickly  away  each  time,  and  left 
no  remorse.  The  thing  that  gave  her  most  concern 
was  the  future.  In  this  adventure  in  ethics  there  was 
only  a  present.  Every  time  her  mind  went  beyond  that 
it  found  only  the  blackness  of  darkness,  penetrated  by 
a  single  ray  of  hope.  The  ray  was  the  invitation  of  the 
Governor.  There  she  saw  salve  for  a  wounded  con 
science,  for  her  program  at  the  Gubernatorial  Mansion 
included  a  number  of  social  reforms.  Both  the  wound 
and  the  salve  were  as  yet  mere  possibilities,  however. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

GOD,  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  AND  "LONE  STAR" 

"I  HOPE  none  of  you  good  people  are  in  a  hurry  to  get 
away,"  the  Colonel  said,  as  the  meal  was  about  over. 
' '  AVe  want  to  show  off  our  new  stock  and  if  you  would 
like,  make  up  a  riding  party — we  can  provide  mounts 
for  all  hands." 

"How  jolly!"  said  Miss  Parker. 

"AVe  have  several  new  attractions  since  most  of  you 
were  here  before— we  have  some  Holstein  stock,  four 
Arab  horses,  an  educated  nigger  and  a  convict  in  stripes 
who  performs  miracles — among  the  niggers!"  All 
laughed  save  the  lady  of  the  Mansion. 

"Lew,  dear,"  she  said,  "who  would  suspect  that  you 
were  Superintendent  of  a  Sunday  school?" 

"I'm  not,  dear,  I'm  Superintendent  Emeritus,  now!" 

"AVell,  the  Superintendent  Emeritus  is  failing  in 
memory,  for  he  has  omitted  a  chief  attraction!" 

"AVhat  is  that?" 

"  'Miss  Tiffany.'  " 

"Ah,  yes — that's  a  grave  omission.  Ladies  and 
gentlemen,  we  have  a  vendor  in  buttons  and  cheap  jew 
elry,  who  can  discuss  the  Derelicts  of  Confucius  or  the 
—what  is  it,  of  Plato?  Anyway,  she  is  the  white  god 
dess  of  our  nigger  community  and  adds  to  the  accom 
plishments  of  a  divinity,  clairvoyance  and  photogra- 
phy!" 

There  was  another  general  laugh.  "AVhat  do  you 
mean?"  asked  Mrs.  Ruden. 

145 


146  THE  MAGYAR 

"Just  what  I  say.  What?  Have  you  been  so  long 
here  without  a  tilt  with  'Miss  Tiffany'?" 

' '  I  never  heard  of  her  before  ! ' ' 

"Well,  now,  we'll  arrange  a  circus  for  this  afternoon 
and  erect  a  grand  stand  for  the  guests." 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Lew,"  said  Mrs.   Oglethorpe. 

"Why,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Colonel,  "I  haven't 
yet  seen  your  John  the  Baptist,  or  is  it  Elijah  the  Tish- 
bite?" 

Breakfast  over,  several  of  the  guests  prepared  for  the 
morning  ride  through  the  woods.  Mrs.  Ruden  and  the 
host  mounted  on  two  of  the  most  spirited  horses,  led  the 
party. 

They  had  no  sooner  left  than  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  sent 
for  the  gardener  and  told  him  of  the  Colonel's  joke,  and 
warned  him  of  the  danger  that  he  might  attempt  to 
carry  it  into  effect. 

"Has  'Miss  Tiffany'  been  around  lately,  William?" 

"No,  madam,  I  have  not  seen  her  for  several  weeks." 

"Have  you  seen  any  of  her  photographs,  William, 
the  ones  she  took  of  the  convicts?" 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  them  all." 

"Are  they  good?" 

"As  good  as  a  professional  could  make." 

"Well,  look  here,  William,  I  want  you  to  do  some 
thing  for  me — I  don't  want  you  to  ask  me  for  a  reason 
—I  want  you  to  do  this  as  you  do  all  your  work — 
quietly  and  well.  Let  no  human  soul  know  why  you 
do  it — nor  for  whom." 

"Does  the  Colonel  know,  madam?" 

"The  Colonel  is  a  human  soul,  William!  Besides  he 
goes  to  Washington  to-morrow,  and  will  be  there  for  a 
week." 

"I  am  ready  for  your  order,  madam." 


LAW  OF  THE  LAND  AND  "LONE  STAR" 

"Get  'Miss  Tiffany'  to  take  a  group  picture,  next 
week.  In  the  group  I  want  Dinah's  two  children, 
Pansy  Jenkins'  baby  and  Delia  Baker's  girl.  Delia 
has  moved  to  Montgomery,  but  I  will  give  you  her  ad 
dress.  Make  an  appointment  with  the  old  woman,  and 
get  your  group.  I  will  get  others  to  be  included  in  the 
picture.  Let  me  know  what  day  she  will  come.  The 
group  is  to  be  photographed  on  the  front  porch,  be 
tween  the  pillars." 

"Very  well,  madam.  I  will  let  you  know  as  soon  as 
I  make  the  arrangements — I  will  have  to  look  the  old 
woman  up,  but  I  know  where  I  can  find  her  in  Mont 
gomery.  ' ' 

There  were  four  people  in  the  riding  party, — Miss 
Parker,  a  debutante,  Bert  Oglethorpe,  the  Colonel,  and 
Mrs.  Ruden. 

After  riding  for  about  five  miles  through  the  woods 
the  sharp  sounds  of  an  axe  rang  through  the  pines. 

The  Colonel  stopped  and  addressed  his  guests. 

"Now,  just  ahead  is  my  turpentine  camp,  and  as 
our  Eastern  friend  has  some  peculiar  ideas  about  labor, 
we  will  turn  here  in  deference  to  her  feelings." 

"Now  I  beg  of  you  not  to  return  on  my  account — 1 
suggest  that  you  young  people  go  on  and  we  will  can 
ter  slowly  back,  or  wait  for  you." 

The  suggestion  was  a  welcome  one  to  the  other  two, 
and  they  rode  on  toward  the  camp. 

"I  wonder  if  'Elijah'  is  out  there?"  Mrs.  Ruden 
asked  before  they  turned. 

"He  undoubtedly  is — perhaps  you  would  like  to  see 
him?" 

' '  I  really  would,  but  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  you 
in  the  few  minutes  we  are  alone,  that  I  would  rather 
postpone  'Elijah'  for  the  present." 


148  THE  MAGYAR 

"I  hope  you  know  how  nicely  that  suits  me,  Made 
line?" 

"The  note,  Lew — what  about  the  note?"  she  asked, 
as  if  she  had  not  heard  his  last  remark. 

"It's  all  right.  Everything's  all  right  if  you  but 
keep  your  nerve." 

"My  nerve's  all  right,  it's  my  conscience  that's  out 
of  joint!" 

"A  little  exercise,  my  dear,  will  adjust  that  all 
right." 

"A  little  exercise  like  last  night?  0!  Lew— for 
God's  sake  arrange  for  some  time  when  I  can  sit  down 
and  talk  to  you  for  hours — for  ten  years  I  have  longed 
to  be  in  vital  touch  with  men  who  are  not  dreamers,  but 
actual  powers.  Men  of  success.  Now  here  I  am  and 
yet  I  know  you  not.  I  am  thrilled  by  the  senses  at 
times,  and  frightened  by  them  as  often  as  I  am  thrilled. 
You  have  never  tried  to  find  out  Avhether  I  have  a  soul 
or  a  mind — you  are  engrossed  by  the  physical.  You 
are  a  worshipper  of  physical  beauty — it  is  your  god 
and  your  heaven  ! ' ' 

"And  sometimes  my  hell!"  he  replied  immediately. 

"Is  this  heaven  to  become  hell  also?" 

"If  you  talk  incessantly  as  you  do,  Madeline." 

"You  would  prefer  silence,  then!" 

He  wheeled  his  horse  to  the  left,  saying  as  he  did 
so,  "There  is  a  deserted  camp  here;  it  is  of  interest, 
let's  look  it  over." 

A  ride  of  a  hundred  yards  along  an  old  grass  covered 
lumber  lane  brought  them  to  the  camp.  It  was  the 
scene  of  former  activity  in  the  denuding  of  the  forest. 
The  old  shacks  were  crumbling  in  decay.  Colonel 
Oglethorpe  dismounted,  but  his  companion  sat  still  in 
the  saddle. 


LAW  OF  THE  LAND  AND  "LONE  STAR"     149 

"Dismount,  my  dear,  and  rest  yourself  a  few  min 
utes." 

"No,  Lew,  I  can't — I'm  ill  at  ease  here." 

He  was  tying  his  horse  to  a  tree  as  he  spoke,  and  he 
continued  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her. 

"Lew,  I  beg  of  }rou — don't  stop  here!" 

He  took  her  horse's  bridle  rein,  led  him  to  a  tree 
and  tied  him  up. 

Mrs.  Ruden  was  in  a  flutter  of  excitement  and  kept 
up  a  steady  chatter  of  protestation,  but  glided  easily 
into  his  outstretched  arms  when  her  horse  was  secured. 

At  the  edge  of  the  cleared  ground  stood  a  wide 
spreading  hemlock  and  around  its  trunk  hung  a  few 
rotten  boards  of  what  was  once  a  seat.  To  this  spot 
the  Colonel  led  his  half  unwilling  guest.  The  boards 
were  not  strong  enough  to  bear  their  weight,  so  they 
sat  down  on  the  soft  dry  turf. 

"Don't,  for  heaven's  sake,  begin  to  philosophize, 
Madeline,"  he  said,  "let  us  enjoy  the  few  moments  we 
are  together — they  are  but  a  few." 

"Woods  have  ears,  Lew,  and  the  day  has  a  million 
eyes. ' ' 

"Let  them  look,  then,"  he  answered.  The  words 
had  scarcely  escaped  his  lips  when  a  noise  startled  him. 
The  Colonel  arose  to  his  feet  instantly. 

"What!  you  here,  Jenkins?" 

The  man  accosted  was  within  a  few  yards.  He  was 
a  tall,  thin  man — rather  unkempt  and  poorly  clad. 
He  carried  a  gun  on  his  right  shoulder  and  a  cartridge 
belt  around  his  waist.  Before  answering  the  saluta 
tion  he  lowered  the  gun  from  his  shoulder  to  a  slanting 
position  under  his  left  arm. 

Madeline  arose  and  gazed  curiously  at  the  intruder. 

"Oglethorpe,"  said  the  man  slowly,  "it's  some 'at  to 


150  THE  MAGYAR 

be  thankful  fur  that  after  all,  only  a  small  slice  ov 
these  parts  air  gov'rn'd  b'  sich  understandin'  as  ye've 
got." 

"Your  term  hasn't  fully  cured  you,  Jenkins,"  Colonel 
Oglethorpe  said,  as  he  took  Mrs.  Ruden's  arm  and  led 
her  away.  There  was  an  undisguised  sarcasm  in  the 
words — they  were  intended  to  close  the  brief  interview. 
"NVitli  the  agile  movement  of  an  animal,  Jenkins  strode 
in  front  of  the  couple. 

''Stand  yer  ground  fur  a  jiffy — Ah  11  tell  ye  jest  how 
much  Ah'm  cured,  Colonel." 

The  men  glared  at  each  other — there  was  movement, 
but  it  was  arrested  by  the  third  person.  She  held  the 
Colonel's  arm.  An  oath  escaped  him,  but  Jenkins 
didn't  hear  him — he  was  talking  and  thinking  too  in 
tensely  to  hear. 

"Th'  time  wuz,  Oglethorpe,  when  Ah'd  liev'  shot  ye 
like  a  skunk  ur  a  'possum  fur  what  Ah  learned  when 
Ah  struck  in'  cabin  last  week — 

Colonel  Oglethorpe  made  a  convulsive  plunge  past 
the  speaker,  dragging  his  friend  almost  off  her  feet. 

It  was  Jenkins'  turn  to  move.  lie  moved  swiftly  in 
front  again,  this  time  a  few  paces  in  advance. 

"By  the  Almighty — ye '11  stand  in  yer  tracks  an' 
hear  me  ur  hear  this!"  lie  tapped  the  barrel  of  his 
gun  with  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  as  he  spoke. 
There  was  a  fiendish  scowl  on  his  face  and  a  determina 
tion  in  his  voice  that  brooked  no  refusal. 

"You  d d  cracker!"  hissed  the  infuriated 

planter. 

"Wall,  let  it  go  at  that — but  hear  a  cracker's  idee 
ov  what's  ahead  of  ye." 

"This  fellow's  crazy,"  Oglethorpe  said  to  his  friend 
in  an  attempt  to  engross  her  while  Jenkins  was  deliver- 


LAW  OF  THE  LAND  AND  "LONE  STAR"     151 

ing  his  message,  but  her  curiosity  was  aroused  and  she 
said:  "Let  him  say  what  he  has  to  say  and  let  us  get 
out  of  here ! ' ' 

"Ef  ye 're  through  palaverin'  Ah '11  proceed." 
There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"Oglethorpe — Ah  know  nothin'  about  God — m'  little 
gal  says  Ah'd  better  leave  th'  case  wi'  Him,  so  Ah've 
promised  her — but  ef  there  be  sich  a  person  an'  he 
ain't  onto  'is  job  an'  ef  th'  Law  caint  git  no  grip  on 
a  snake  o'  your  kind,  Ah '11  lend  them  a  hand — but  as 
Ah'm  gettin'  kind'r  down  an'  out  they'll  hev  ter  git 
a  hustle  on!" 

lie  turned  quickly  around  and  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Ruden  was  unable  to  speak  and  would  have  col 
lapsed  but  for  the  strong  arm  around  her  waist. 

From  his  saddle  bag  he  took  a  small  phial  of  whisky, 
a  mouthful  of  which  sufficiently  stimulated  her  to  re 
mount  her  horse. 

As  they  rode  quietly  along  the  Colonel  made  several 
unsuccessful  attempts  to  engage  his  friend  in  conver 
sation.  He  explained  the  case  of  Jenkins— he  even 
joked  over  it. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Madeline?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  in  Florence,"  she  answered. 

' '  Florence — Alabama  ? ' ' 

"No,  in  Italy."  She  was  looking  through  the  vista 
of  the  pines.  Overhead  what  could  be  seen  of  the  sky 
was  like  a  strip  of  light  blue  ribbon — the  great  black 
tree  trunks  were  splashed  with  sunlight — the  air  was 
balmy,  clear  and  exhilarating.  It  was  a  day  to  enjoy 
— to  make  one  fall  in  love  with  life. 

"This  air  reminds  me  of  Italy,"  she  said,  "but.  the 
episode  in  the  clearing  reminds  me  of  Florence." 

"How?" 


152  THE  MAGYAR 

''You  haven't  read  'Romola,'  have  you?" 

"I  read  it  when  I  was  a  boy." 

"Yes,  but  you  don't  know  the  book — you  don't  re 
member  the  characters." 

"I  can't  say  that  I  do." 

"Lew,  do  you  know  Jenkins'  daughter?" 

"I've  seen  her — she's  a  common  cracker  girl — rather 
pretty — why  do  you  ask  about  her?" 

"AVliile  Jenkins  was  speaking,  Lew,  my  mind  trav 
eled  to  San  Georgio  Hill  in  Florence  to  the  hut  of  little 
Tessa." 

He  changed  the  subject  abruptly,  and  was  helped  in 
his  efforts  by  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  behind  them. 

"You  said  a  while  ago,  Madeline,  that  you  had  so 
much  to  say — let 's  take  a  long  walk  in  the  woods  before 
dinner  to-night." 

"I  leave  AYetumpka  to-morrow  morning,  Lew,  and  I 
must  pack  up  to-night." 

"Impossible!" 

"Impossible  to  stay  a  day  longer — the  mental  atmos 
phere  is  already  stifling  me." 

"Hello,  Colonel!"  yelled  the  Governor's  son — just 
behind. 

They  wheeled  their  horses  and  faced  the  young 
people. 

' '  "Well,  Bert,  what  did  you  discover  in  the  camp  ? ' ' 

"AVe  discovered  your  convict  philosopher  and  were 
treated  to  some  of  his  convict  opinions." 

"The  devil  you  were!     "What  were  they?" 

"I  asked  your  foreman  to  point  him  out  so  that  Miss 
Parker  could  see  him,  and  he  resented  the  request — 

"So  did  the  foreman,"  added  Miss  Parker. 

' '  What  did  lie  say  ? ' '  asked  Mrs.  Ruden. 

"He   read    from    a   collection   of   poems — a   sarcastic 


LAW  OF  THE  LAND  AND  "LONE  STAR"     153 

skit  on  propertied  interests — he's  a  dangerous  char 
acter,  Colonel,  those  men  would  give  their  lives  for 
him!" 

"Gad,  I  must  look  him  over,"  the  Colonel  said,  look 
ing  at  Mrs.  Ruden. 

"I  wish  I  had  gone,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"I  wish  we  had,"  he  replied  slowly. 

"Do  you  remember  whose  poetry  he  quoted?"  Mrs. 
Ruden  asked. 

"Well,  Miss  Parker  I  am  sure  does,"  Bert  replied. 

' '  It  was  something  like  this, ' '  Miss  Parker  said : 

'  'There's  blood  on  your  foreign  shrubs,  Squire, 
There's  blood  on  your  horses'  feet' — " 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  Mrs.  Ruden  continued : 

'  'You  have  sold  the  laboring  men,  Squire, 

Body  and  soul  to  shame, 
To  pay  for  your  scat  in  the  House,  Squire, 
And  to  pay  for  the  feed  of  your  game!'" 

' '  By  Jove  !  You  've  got  a  corking  memory,  Auntie  ! ' ' 
Bert  said. 

"That  poem  was  composed  by  Charles  Kingsley, " 
she  said.  "I  had  a  friend,  once,  wrho  repeated  it  so 
often  in  my  presence  that  it  burned  itself  into  my  soul 
—my  friend  was  for  the  laborer — I  was  for  the 
squire!"  She  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  the  Colonel, 
and  her  look  banished  a  frown  that  had  gathered  dur 
ing  the  recital  of  the  two  verses. 

"Give  us  the  rest  of  it,"  the  boy  urged. 

"Oh,  much  of  it  had  merely  a  local  English  interest, 
but  my  friend  always  got  excited  when  he  came  to  the 
lines: 


154  THE  MAGYAR 

"  'When  packed  in  one  reeking  chamber 

Man,  Maid,  Mother  and  little  ones  lay: 
While  the  rain  pattered  in  on  the  rotting  bride-bed, 
And  the  walls  let  in  the  day. 

Our  daughters  with  base-born  babies 

Have  wandered  away  in  their  shame; 
If  your  Misses  had  slept,  Squire,  where  they  did, 

Your  Misses  might  do  the  same. 

Can  your  lady  patch  hearts  that  are  breaking 

With  handfuls  of  coal  and  rice, 
Or  by  dealing  out  flannel  and  sheeting 

A  little  below  cost  price?'" 

"That's  it,"  Bert  Oglethorpe  said.  "He  ripped  the 
•whole  business  out  and  made  me  feel  like  a  regular 
Bluebeard  or  Torquamada — by  George!" 

At  luncheon,  the  young  people  supplied  most  of  the 
conversation  and  the  largest  share  of  the  appetite. 

Neither  the  Colonel  nor  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  were  at  ease 
in  each  other's  presence.  Mrs.  Ruden  sipped  and  nib 
bled  through  half  the  meal  and  then  begged  to  be  ex 
cused  on  account  of  headache. 

After  luncheon  the  guests  departed  and  the  host  and 
hostess  with  Mrs.  Ruden  had  Wetumpka  to  themselves. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

THE  PLANTER'S  WIFE  SEES  A  LIGHT 

DUTIES  of  a  national  character  demanded  the  Colonel's 
presence  in  Washington,  and  in  view  of  an  early  de 
parture,  he  made  a  tour  of  inspection  around  the  indus 
trial  departments  of  the  plantation. 

He  had  not  much  trouble  on  the  labor  question. 
His  neighbors  sneered  at  the  use  of  State  convicts,  and 
there  were  many  hints  of  foul  play.  He  managed  to 
keep  quite  a  number  of  negroes,  but  there  were  changes 
in  the  market  of  black  muscles  and  the  making  of  labor 
contracts  was  on  a  par,  ethically,  with  the  arrangement 
of  secret  rebates  with  the  railroads — the  crime  was  not 
in  the  act,  but  in  its  disclosure. 

Two  of  the  best  men  on  the  plantation  were  under 
ten-year  contracts.  They  were  both  negroes  and  lived 
with  their  families  in  shacks  near  the  stockade. 

Someone  had  been  making  trouble  in  the  case,  for 
both  of  the  men  had  asked  for  release  from  the  contract, 
and  although  neither  of  them  could  read  or  write,  they 
had  shown  some  familiarity  with  the  law. 

When  William,  the  head  gardener,  came,  in  answer 
to  the  Colonel's  call,  he  was  closely  questioned  about 
the  two  men. 

"Both  of  them  are  determined  to  go — Colonel,"  Wil 
liam  said — "they  know  the  law." 

"Look  here,  William,"  the  Colonel  said  sharply,  "I 
don't  want  to  be  told  what  two  niggers  know  of  the 

155 


156  THE  MAGYAR 

law — I  shall  look  to  you  to  hold  them  to  their  con 
tracts!" 

"I  can  control  the  men,  Colonel,  if  you  can  control 
the  Federal  Court." 

"Control  hell!  You  control  your  department  as 
Huggins  controls  the  State  convicts  or  find  another 
place ! ' ' 

"I  shall  do  what  I  can,  sir." 

"Where  is  Huggins?" 

"In  the  new  camp  with  the  men — I  thought  you  saw 
him  this  forenoon." 

"No,  I  went  to  the  old  camp  with  some  friends." 

Master  and  man  stood  on  the  lawn — a  white  woman 
and  a  black  ladies'  maid  watched  them  from  separate 
windows  in  the  Mansion — each  with  intense  interest  and 
anticipation. 

A  messenger  boy  approached  and  handed  the  Colonel 
a  telegram.  He  tore  it  open  and  read  it. 

"This  is  from  Loeb, "  he  said,  "the  President  wants 
to  see  me  at  once." 

"Now,  look  here,  AYilliam,  I  shall  have  to  take  a 
train  for  Washington  in  an  hour — I  want  to  see  Hug- 
gins  at  once,  and  want  to  leave  a  final  word  with  you 
about  those  niggers ! ' ' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  shall  hold  you  responsible  for  their  conduct!  Do 
you  understand?" 

"I  understand  your  meaning,  Colonel,  but — 

"No  'but'  in  it  whatever — if  they  go,  you  go,  too. 
That's  all.  Not  another  word!" 

Half  an  hour  later,  Huggins,  the  foreman  of  the  men 
in  chains,  was  on  the  veranda  getting  instructions. 

' '  Huggins, ' '  said  the  master,  ' '  there 's  a  yellow  streak 
in  AYilliam,  and  I  can't  trust  him.  You're  a  white 


THE  PLANTER'S  WIFE  SEES  A  LIGHT      157 

man  and  you've  handled  niggers  and  convicts  until 
they're  an  open  book  to  you.  You  know  big  Bill — 
and  Joe?" 

"Ah  do,  sir." 

"They  have  ten-year  contracts  and  want  to  go  back 
on  them — neither  of  them  can  cither  read  or  write— 
they  will  fall  into  the  hands  of  some  labor  sharks — I 
want  to  save  them — if  William  fails,  you  must  step  in 
— get  them  in  debt — charge  them  with  something,  be 
fore  my  friend,  the  Justice,  and  if  you  are  forced  to 
it,  use  extreme  measures — you  understand!" 

"Ah  sho  do,  Colonel!" 

"How  about  this  white  convict  with'  nigger  religion?" 

"He's  white,  Colonel,  white  inside  an'  out — he  sho 
is." 

"I  want  to  see  him  when  I  return — 

"My  dear!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Oglethorpe,  seizing  her 
husband  by  the  arm,  "Madeline  insists  on  going  to 
morrow — now  persuade  her  to  stay  a  few  days — she 
will  stay  if  you  urge  her — I  am  sure." 

"What's  her  hurry?" 

"Oh!  just  a  whim,  I  suppose." 

Huggins  moved  away.  Husband  and  wife  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes. 

"What  does  this  sudden  call  mean,  Lew;  will  you 
be  away  long?" 

"Just  a  conference — 'T.  R.'  imagines  that  we  are  all 
breathlessly  awaiting  his  summons — he  may  merely 
want  to  know  the  name  of  somebody  in  my  district — 
somebody  who  has  said  something  he  doesn't  approve 
of." 

"Well,  just  tell  Madeline — she  must  stay  till  you 
come  back. ' ' 

"Where  is  she  now?" 


158  THE  MAGYAR 

"In  her  room — I'll  tell  her  you  want  her  to  drive 
you  to  the  depot — shall  I  ? " 

"Well,  that  will  give  me  an  opportunity  to  try,  any 
way.  ' ' 

"Madeline,  dear!"  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  called,  witli  a 
rising  inflection.  There  was  no  answer.  Mrs.  Ogle 
thorpe  ran  upstairs  and  knocked  at  her  door. 

"Come  in!" 

"My  dear,  Lew  wants  you  to  drive  him  to  the  depot 
— he's  called  to  Washington,  and  must  be  off  in  a  few 
minutes — now  don't  refuse  him." 

"I  really  can't,  dear,  I'm  feeling  so  poorly — 
really—" 

"The  air  will  brace  you,  dearie." 

"Does  he  really  want  me  to  drive  him?" 

"He's  waiting,  dear,  for  your  answer." 

"W-e-1-1 — very  well — Mabel,  I'll  go — the  air  may  do 
me  good — I  feel  very  poorly." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Colonel  and  his  guest  drove 
away  in  a  high  new-fashioned  dog  cart  drawn  by  a  spir 
ited  bay  mare. 

They  had  scarcely  disappeared,  when  William,  in  re 
sponse  to  a  hurried  call,  stood  in  the  drawing-room 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  his  mistress.  lie  was  not  kept 
waiting  long. 

"Sit  down,  William,"  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  said,  as  she 
entered.  She  took  a  seat  close  beside  him  and  said : 

"Do  you  know  that  Jenkins  met  the  Colonel  in  the 
woods  to-day?" 

"Yes,  madam." 

"Have  you   seen  Jenkins?" 

"I  have." 

"Look  here,  William.  I  believe  you  are  a  man  with 
a  soul,  and  I  want  you  to  aid  me.  I  feel  the  very  air 


THE  PLANTER'S  WIFE  SEES  A  LIGHT      159 

charged  with  vibrations  of  hate,  lust,  suspicion  and  in 
justice.  You  know  what  is  going  on — I  don't  ask  you 
to  be  a  traitor  to  your  people,  but  when  I  tell  you  that 
in  forty-eight  hours  my  very  soul  has  sickened — my 
conscience  has  become  a  flame  of  fire  on  social  and  in 
dustrial  conditions  around  me,  you  will  believe  me  and 
help  me." 

She  waited  for  a  moment.  The  black  man  was  gaz 
ing  intently  at  her. 

"You  suspect  that  I  know  some  things,  madam,"  he 
said. 

"Yes — I  am  sure." 

"Then  I  promise  to  help  you,  on  one  condition." 

"What  is  it?" 

"First,  that  justice  is  done  to  Dinah." 

"My  God!     Do  you  know  that,  too?" 

"I  do." 

"Where  did  you  get  that?" 

' '  I  know, ' '  was  all  he  said. 

Mrs.  Oglethorpe  grew  pale  and  nervous  and  fell  back 
in  her  chair.  In  a  few  minutes  she  regained  her  com 
posure  and  said: 

"My  special  need  for  you  at  this  moment  is  this: 

"I  want  you  to  outline  a  plan  of  work  for  the  em 
ployees  of  this  place  that  will  rid  us  of  what  I  know  is 
going  on — Lying,  injustice  and  oppression.  Write 
out  a  plan,  make  suggestions  and  I  will  have  it  type 
written  and  submitted  to  the  Colonel." 

"Pardon  me  if  I  look  incredulous,  madam." 

"I  am  not  thinking  as  much  of  the  salvation  of  con 
victs  and  negroes  as  I  am  of  my  own,  AVilliam.  I  want 
to  be  saved!" 

"I  will  do  it  to-night,  madam." 

"Huggins  has  lost  much  of  his  brutality,  these  last 


160  THE  MAGYAR 

few  weeks,  but  he  has  that  brutal  streak  in  him  that 
makes  him  so  valuable  for  business  like  this — I  would 
not  trust  him." 

"He  can  be  trusted  to  stand  by  the  Colonel's  policy, 
madam,  no  matter  what  that  policy  is,  but  just  at  pres 
ent  he  would  almost  give  his  life  for  'Elijah.'  ' 

"That  reminds  me,  William,  it  is  Christmas  day,  and 
I  think  I  '11  ask  Iluggins  to  bring  up  half  a  dozen  of  the 
best  of  his  men  to  the  house  to-night  and  we  will  have 
some  music  and  refreshments." 

"That's  impossible,  madam." 

"Why?" 

"There  isn't  a  convict  on  the  place  that  isn't  alive 
with  vermin ! ' ' 

"Good  heavens!     Is  that  necessary?" 

"It  seems  to  the  management  cheaper  than  cleanli 
ness." 

"Well,  bring  'Elijah'  up,  anyway — if  we  get  smit 
ten  it's  much  less  than  we  deserve." 

"You  wouldn't  give  that  man  unnecessary  pain, 
madam,  would  you?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"He  wrould  rather  cut  a  hand  off  than  come." 

"Why?" 

"He  is  a  gentleman." 

"What  is  he  in  chains  for?" 

"Resisting  an  officer?" 

"William,  I  have  made  half  a  dozen  attempts  to  see 
this  man  and  I  have  been  put  aside  each  time.  There 
is  some  mystery  in  the  case  and  I  shall  solve  it." 

"Not  being  involved,  madam,  I  have  no  personal  in 
terest  in  the  matter." 

"I  am  grateful  for  your  cooperation  in  what  we  have 
discussed  and  will  wait  with  interest  your  plans." 


CHAPTER    XX 

'LUAII    OF    THE    STOCKADE 

THE  advent  of  Christ  is  celebrated  in  Alabama  with 
fire  crackers,  giant  caps  and  sky-rockets. 

There  was  a  half-holiday  at  AYetumpka  Christmas 
day,  and  what  was  left  over  from  the  ball  was  served 
out  as  a  token  of  good  will  to  the  convicts  and  servants. 
Young  Oglethorpe  provided  the  pyrotechnic  display 
and  the  negro  children  furnished  the  lire  crackers. 
There  were  several  special  privileges  handed  out  to 
foremen,  and  they  in  turn  were  expected  to  loosen  for 
a  day  the  lines  of  discipline. 

Several  of  the  convicts  requested  Huggins  to  permit 
a  light  in  the  "long  shed"  until  ten  o'clock  to  enable 
"Elijah"  to  tell  some  stories  he  had  promised. 

Nightly,  before  lights  out,  it  was  the  foreman's  last 
duty  of  the  day  to  see  that  every  man  was  chained  by 
the  ankles  to  a  ring  in  the  wall.  They  asked  that  they 
be  permitted  to  sit  around  the  story  teller  until  he  had 
finished. 

Huggins  was  a  careful  man,  and  took  no  chances. 
Knowing  something  of  Mrs.  Oglethorpe 's  change  of 
mind  and  feeling  at  the  time  kindly  disposed  toward 
the  men  under  his  care,  he  consulted  the  lady  of  the 
Mansion. 

"AVhy,  of  course,"  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  said.  "And  if 
you  want  any  extra  refreshments,  tell  the  cook  and  she 
will  furnish  what  is  needed." 

Huggins  was  relieved,  and  hurried  to  the  shacks  to 
announce  the  news. 

161 


162  THE  MAGYAR 

When  Mrs.  Ruden  returned  from  her  drive  to  the 
depot  she  told  her  hostess  that  she  would  stay  until  the 
end  of  the  week. 

The  conversation  at  dinner  that  night  developed  a 
plan  by  which,  with  the  help  of  Huggins,  the  ladies 
might  hear  "Elijah"  tell  his  stories. 

It  was  with  considerable  reluctance  that  Huggins  be 
came  part  of  the  plan,  for  he  feared  this  strange  pris 
oner  with  a  new  fear — a  fear  unknown  in  the  life  of  the 
stockade.  At  the  end  of  the  long  shed  stood  a  pine  tree 
whose  lower  branches  formed  a  tent-shaped  arbor. 
Huggins  thought  of  this  and  inspected  it  with  a  view 
to  the  accommodation  of  his  guests. 

It  was  but  the  work  of  a  few  minutes  to  arrange  a 
place  where  two  people  could  sit  beneath  the  pine  tree 
and  see  without  being  seen.  The  difficulty  would  be 
in  the  coming  and  going.  Huggins  needed  "William, 
but  couldn't  trust  him  in  a  case  like  this.  He  would 
raise  objections — talk  about  "rights"  and  make  as  much 
of  a  fuss  over  it  as  " 'Lijah"  would  himself.  Besides, 
AVilliam  was  to  be  present  and  sing  "coon  songs,"  and 
perhaps  tell  stories,  too.  All  this  was  explained  to 
Mrs.  Oglethorpe  and  her  friend. 

Convicts,  negroes,  servants  and  neighboring  farmers 
watched  the  sky  rockets  as  they  exploded  in  fantastic 
showers  beneath  the  stars  and  fell  in  black  soot  over 
the  misery  of  the  slaves — always  intensifying  the  dark 
ness  of  the  night. 

"Git  in,  boys,"  Huggins  said  as  the  last  rocket  burst 
and  fell.  . 

There  was  a  rattling  of  chains,  a  shuffling  of  feet,  a 
few  muttered  exclamations  and  the  gray  friars  of  the 
stockade  moved  into  their  hole. 

A  table  had  been  arranged  near  the  north  end  of  the 


'LIJAH  OF  THE  STOCKADE  163 

shed.  A  candle  stuck  in  the  neck  of  a  bottle  shed  a 
yellow  light  over  the  scene  and  around  the  light  gath 
ered  the  men — sitting  on  their  haunches,  as  close  as 
they  could  get  to  the  center. 

"Do  you  want  a  new  story,  boys — or  shall  I  tell  one 
of  the  old  ones?" 

"Give's  th'  ol'  boy  what  beat  the  detective!"  said 
one,  ' '  Jean  Val  Jean  ! ' ' 

"Shure,  he's  the  stuff." 

"He  giv'  that  twice 't, "  said  another — "let  'im  give's 
th'  little  ol'  Russian  shoemaker!" 

The  men  looked  like  a  class  of  school  children — with 
their  expectant  faces  and  their  clamor  of  choices. 

"Boys,"  said  a  new  voice,  in  the  door  of  the  shed — 
all  eyes  turned  toward  the  speaker.  The  yellow  glim 
mer  did  not  reach  that  far,  but  the  speaker  stepped 
forward  and  continued,  "Ah '11  give  you  a  pointer  on 
his  best  yarn — II 'it's  the  story  ov  what  he's  bin  up 
agin'  t'  defend  th'  people— make  'm  tell  ye!" 

"  'Li jah"  stood  erect  and  faced  the  speaker. 

' '  '  Lone  Star ! '  : '  he  exclaimed. 

' '  Jenkins  ! ' '  exclaimed  Huggins. 

Jenkins  strode  toward  the  light  and  gripped  his 
friend  by  the  hand. 

Huggins  evidently  resented  the  intrusion.  He 
scowled  at  Jenkins,  but  the  sight  presented  by  the  af 
fectionate  attitude  of  the  men,  as  they  looked  at  each 
other  held  him  awestruck  for  a  moment. 

When  he  found  his  speech,  he  said : 

"Ah  spec'  ye  know  what  th'  Colonel 'd  say  ef  he 
know'd  ye  wuz  aroun',  Jenkins?" 

"Ah  sho  do — Huggins,  but  since  he's  hell  on  religion 
Ah  thot  there 'd  be  no  kick  on  a  visit  to  an  ol'  pal — on 
Christmas  Day?" 


164  THE  MAGYAR 

"He'd  expect  me  to  order  ye  off  the  place,  Jenkins." 

"He  sho  wud — but  he'd  also  'spect  me  to  tell  ye  to 
mind  yer  own  damned  perticular  job  at  th'  peril  ov 
yer  head !" 

"'Lijah"  interposed  quietly,  and  Huggins  subsided. 

Every  man  ensconced  himself  to  the  best  advantage 
and  the  story  teller  began. 

Mrs.  Oglethorpe  and  her  friend  sat  on  an  extempo 
rized  bench  beneath  the  pine  tree  and  watched  the  pro 
ceedings  through  a  rent  in  the  boards  of  the  shed. 

It  was  a  weird  sight  to  both  of  them.  There  were 
thrilling  moments  for  each,  but  neither  uttered  a  word 
to  the  other  until  the  central  figure  ventured  to  follow 
the  suggestion  of  his  friend  in  telling  a  little  of  his  per 
sonal  experience. 

He  hadn't  spoken  half  a  dozen  words  before  Mrs. 
Ruden  unconsciously  clutched  the  arm  of  her  friend — • 
it  was  the  grip  of  a  man,  and  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  winced 
and  jerked  herself  loose.  She  looked  at  her  friend  and 
saw  that  she  leaned  against  the  boards  in  a  helplessly 
limp  condition. 

"Madeline!"  she  said — "You  are  faint — shall  we 
go?" 

Mrs.  Ruden  made  a  suggestive  motion  and  her  hostess 
took  her  by  the  arm  and  led  her  from  beneath  the  tree. 
It  was  quite  dark  and  neither  could  clearly  see  the 
other's  face.  "When  they  reached  the  road  leading  to 
the  house  Mrs.  Ruden  stopped,  freed  herself  and  stood 
for  a  moment  erect  and  rigid.  Neither  spoke. 

Two  unseen  forces  were  at  war  in  her  heart.  She 
had  stopped  at  the  edge  of  a  crisis.  It  was  a  moment 
of  indecision — only  a  moment.  Then  she  sprang 
toward  the  Mansion  and  her  hostess  had  to  step  lively 
to  keep  up  with  her. 


'LIJAH  OF  THE  STOCKADE  165 

Without  a  word  of  explanation,  she  excused  herself 
and  shut  herself  up  in  her  room. 

"Dinah,"  said  Mrs.  Oglethorpe,  "I  don't  want  you 
to  spend  much  time  in  Mrs.  Ruden's  room  to-night;  if 
she  wants  you,  say  you  have  too  much  ironing  to  do. 
Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes'm." 

"Tell  AATilliam  I  want  him  at  once,"  she  said  to  a 
colored  boy  in  the  hall.  Ten  minutes  later  William 
appeared. 

"What  time  is  breakfast  served  to  the  convicts?" 
was  her  first  question. 

"At  half-past  five,  Madam." 

"Have  you  seen  'Miss  Tiffany'?" 

"Yes,  Madam,  she  is  now  in  Mammy  Fender's  hut, 
having  supper." 

"For  heaven's  sake!" 

"Why  are  you  surprised,  Madam?" 

"Oh,  nothing — nothing,  William — I — I  was  thinking 
of  the  photograph — that's  all." 

"Everything  is  ready,  Madam." 

"Have  you  found  out  who  'Elijah'  is?" 

William  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "I  knew  who  he 
was  when  he  came,  Madam." 

"You   did?" 

"Yes." 

"Why  hasn't  he  escaped?" 

"He  doesn't  want  to  escape." 

' '  How  strange !     Is  he  conscious  of  the  situation  ? ' ' 

"What  situation?" 

Mrs.  Oglethorpe  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"You  do  not  trust  me,  William — I  do  not  blame  you, 
but  I  was  trusting  to  your  intuition — I  will  go  farther 
— I  will  assume  that  you  trust  me,  and  run  the  risk." 


166  THE  MAGYAR 

"I  honor  your  confidence,  Madam,  more  than  I  can 
tell  you." 

"Then  tell  me  frankly,  AVilliam,  what  you  know 
about  this  man,  'Elijah'!" 

"He  is  the  man  who  exposed  your  husband  before  the 
Board  of  Inquiry!" 

"Exposed  my  husband — what  do  you  mean?" 

"Haven't  you  read  or  heard  what  happened  at  the 
hearing,  Madam  ? ' ' 

"Not  a  word." 

""Well,  this  man  told  the  Board  that  your  husband 
had  taken  money  from  some  of  the  convicts — promis 
ing  pardons  and  rehearings. " 

"Oh,  my  God!  that  cannot  be  true!" 

They  were  silent.  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  held  tightly  the 
arms  of  her  chair. 

"He  didn't  need  the  money,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
as  if  speaking  to  herself — "it  was  habit,  I  suppose,  the 
habit  of  squeezing  the  blood  out  of  our  fellow-beings 
— heir  to  a  legacy  of  greed." 

The  telephone  rang.  It  was  the  Governor,  inquiring 
after  the  health  of  the  family,  and  incidentally  about 
Mrs.  Ruden.  Bert  Oglethorpe  was  in  the  hall  at  the 
'phone — his  mother  stepped  softly  to  his  side  and  whis 
pered — "tell  him  your  mother  would  like  very  much  to 
have  him  call  to-morrow  forenoon,  if  he  can  possibly 
make  it  convenient," 

She  went  upstairs  slowly  and  returned  a  few  minutes 
later  with  a  cashmere  shawl  thrown  loosely  around  her 
shoulders. 

"I  will  go  with  you  to  the  'long  shed,'  William. " 

"Madam!" 

She  moved  toward  the  door  and  the  gardener  followed. 
She  tottered,  but  he  dared  not  assist — she  was  physi- 


'LLTAH  OF  THE  STOCKADE  167 

cally  weak  with  assistance  at  hand  which  it  was  impos 
sible  to  utilize. 

"Hadn't  you  better  ask  your  son  to  accompany  you, 
Madam?" 

"No — it  would  take  a  month  to  explain  to  him." 

Stephen  Ruden  had  completed  his  story,  and  was  in 
the  midst  of  Dickens'  "Christmas  Carol,"  when  the 
Mistress  of  the  Mansion  arrived. 

When  she  entered  he  at  once  arose  and  gave  her  the 
only  chair  in  the  shed. 

The  interruption  dispelled  much  of  the  interest  in 
the  story  and  disconcerted  the  narrator.  All  eyes  were 
on  the  lady  of  the  plantation — and  everybody  was  glad 
when  the  story  was  told. 

"It's  up  t'  AV'llyum — now,"  Huggins  said  as  Ruden 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  boards. 

"I  am  in  no  mood  to  sing  'coon'  songs,"  William 
said,  "and  of  stories  you  have  heard  enough." 

Mrs.  Oglethorpe  was  keyed  up  in  a  high  state  of  nerv 
ous  tension  and  understood  as  clearly  as  if  she  had  been 
told  that  few,  if  any,  felt  at  home  in  her  presence. 

There  was  a  few  moments'  silence — it  became  painful 
as  it  lengthened.  The  silence  was  a  hint  that  a  foreign 
element  had  entered  the  "long  shed." 

The  'intruder  understood.  She  arose  from  her  chair, 
steadying  herself  by  holding  the  edge  of  the  table  with 
one  hand. 

"I  want  to  say  something,"  she  said,  in  a  faltering 
voice. 

"You  men  have  chains  on  your  bodies  every  day, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  you  consider  yourselves  slaves, 
but  I  want  to  tell  you,  on  my  honor,  that  I  would  rather 
wear  a  chain  on  my  ankles  than  on  my  soul — I  would 
gladly  change  places  with  any  man  here,  if  by  the  ex- 


168  THE  MAGYAR 

change  I  could  tear  away  the  heavy  chains  that  seem 
to  crush  the  very  soul  out  of  my  body." 

"Wide-eyed,  they  watched  the  speaker,  as  she  spoke 
with  trembling  accents. 

"I  have  spoiled  your  program  by  intruding," — she 
continued — "let  me  tell  you  how  you  can  find  your 
interest  again.  I  overheard,  one  day,  a  conversation 
between  two  men  who  are  here — I  want  them  to  give 
you  and  to  give  me  the  benefit  of  a  full  discussion  of 
the  topic  they  discussed  that  day." 

Ruden  and  the  gardener  looked  at  each  other. 

The  former  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Your  presence  here  is  as  unusual  to  them  as  it  must 
be  to  you,  Madam.  It  is  kind  of  you  to  step  over  the 
line — we  are  not  ungrateful,  but  simply  surprised." 

"Then  perhaps  I  had  better  explain  myself.  Within 
a  day,  almost,  I  have  changed  my  views  of  life- — my 
new  views  bring  me  here.  You  are  human  beings  with 
rights  to  life  no  less  than  my  own.  I  shall  respect 
those  rights  hereafter,  and  shall  not  be  a  party  to  un 
just  or  unfair  treatment," 

There  was  a  momentary  hesitation — apparently  Mrs. 
Oglethorpe  was  on  the  point  of  saying  something — per 
haps,  more — but  was  uncertain  as  to  its  effect  upon  her 
hearers. 

"No,"  she  continued,  "I  think  I  will  leave  it  un 
said — action  speaks  louder  than  words — good  night, 
men."  As  she  said  this,  she  advanced  toward  Ruden, 
held  out  her  hand  and  said:  "Good  night,  Mr.  Ru 
den!" 

Stephen  Ruden  took  the  proffered  hand,  bowed  and 
said  quietly,  "Good  night,  Madam." 

The  gardener  followed  her.     "I  want  to  go  at  once  to 


'LIJAH  OF  THE  STOCKADE  169 

call  on  Mammy  Fender,  AYilliam,"  she  said,  as  soon  as 
they  left  the  door  of  the  shed. 

"Very  well,  Madam,"  William  said,  in  a  somewhat 
reluctant  manner. 

"You  would  rather  I  wouldn't — isn't  that  so,  Wil 
liam?" 

"There  is  a  verse  of  scripture,  Madam,  which  says — 
'All  things  are  lawful  but  all  things  are  not  expe 
dient.'  " 

"Is  it  ever  inexpedient  to  right  a  \vrong?" 

"It's  usually  a  matter  of  method — a  wrong  method 
may  double  the  original  condition." 

"You  suspect  revenge  and  your  suspicion  is  well 
founded — your  'Miss  Tiffany'  is  a  spy,  AYilliam,  and 
I  am  going  to  tear  the  mask  from  her  face!" 

"I  do  not  know,  Mrs.  Oglethorpe,  who  'Miss  Tiffany' 
is,  but  I  do  know  that  she  will  have  to  be  counted  in 
when  the  day  of  reckoning  arrives." 

"The  day  of  reckoning  is  here — that's  why  I  want 
to  meet  her ! ' ' 


CHAPTER    XXI 

A  COMMUNITY  OF  FATHERLESS  CHILDREN 

MAMMY  PEXDER  was  the  accredited  clairvoyant  of  the 
neighborhood — her  sayings  had  found  their  way  into 
the  newspapers  of  Montgomery,  and  among  the  black 
folk  she  was  considered  infallible  in  her  predictions. 
Rich  and  poor  consulted  her  as  touching  the  future. 
Politicians  consulted  her  before  embarking  upon  doubt 
ful  campaigns — but  her  specialty  was  in  the  realm  of 
the  heart. 

It  was  Mammy  Pender  who  christened  the  little  old 
woman  who  sold  cheap  jewelry— "Miss  Tiffany."  They 
were  intimate  friends  and  "Miss  Tiffany"  often  slept 
in  a  corner  of  the  old  woman's  hut. 

When  they  reached  the  old  woman's  shanty,  "William 
lifted  the  latch,  pushed  the  door  open,  and  Mrs.  Ogle- 
thorpe  marched  in.  Pine  knots  were  blazing  on  the 
open  hearth  and  a  candle  lit  the  other  end  of  the  hut. 
On  one  side  of  the  fire  sat  the  old  negress  and  opposite 
her  sat  Mrs.  Ruden! 

"Where's  'Miss  Tiffany'?"  asked  Mrs.  Oglethorpe, 
in  a  disappointed  tone. 

"She  done  lit  out  fo'  d'  city — All  specs,"  the  old 
woman  said. 

"You  will  not  need  her,  Mabel,"  Mrs.  Ruden  said, 
rising  to  her  feet  as  she  spoke — "The  shaft  she  was  to 
help  you  prepare  has  already  entered  my  soul — The 
humiliation  you  planned  of  having  me  photographed 
on  your  porch  in  the  center  of  your  husband's  nine  il- 

170 


COMMUNITY  OF  FATHERLESS  CHILDREN     171 

legitimate  children — black  and  white — is  the  most 
dastardly  trick  I  have  ever  heard  of  one  human  play 
ing  on  another!" 

"Is  it  as  dastardly  as  the  deliberate  theft  of  a  hus 
band — and  the  base  betrayal  of  a  friend?" 

"Three  black  and  two  white  women  have  borne 
children  to  your  husband  without  disturbing  your 
equilibrium  very  much.  I  don't  see  why  an  extra 
woman  or  a  few  extra  children  should  give  you  hys 
teria." 

The  women  glared  at  each  other.  Old  Mammy 
Fender  swayed  back  and  forth  on  her  stool,  wringing 
her  hands  and  moaning  softly: 

"0,  Massa  Jesus,  mend  yo'  licks  an'  squelch  d'  ol' 
debil  in  dese  yere  white  folks ! ' ' 

The  gardener  stood  in  the  shadows  of  the  hut — 
silent. 

"I  have  but  one  thing  more  to  say,"  Mrs.  Og'lethorpe 
said,  "relieve  the  place  of  your  presence  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment. ' ' 

No  reply  was  needed — none  offered — she  turned  and 
left  the  hut  and  was  followed  closely  by  AYilliam. 

The  hostess  considered  it  judicious  to  allow  her  guest 
to  take  the  initiative  if  any  mention  was  made,  but  the 
guest  had  avoided  her  friend  and  now  that  she  had  dis 
covered  the  plot  to  humiliate  her  there  would  probably 
be  no  mention  whatever. 

"When  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  reached  the  Mansion  she  was 
in  a  desperate  mood.  The  words  of  her  guest  had 
pierced  her  soul.  The  plan  that  failed  was  not  wholly 
one  of  revenge.  There  was  a  salutary  lesson  involved, 
a  lesson  that  was  needed  and  which  even  now  might  be 
taught  with  effectiveness  before  the  departure  of  the 
guest.  The  gardener  had  accompanied  his  Mistress  to 


172  THE  MAGYAR 

the  door  and  departed  with  a  request  to  report  a  few 
hours  later. 

Mrs.  Oglethorpe  shut  herself  in  her  room  giving  or 
ders  that  she  was  not  to  be  disturbed.  She  sat  in  an 
easy  chair  revolving  in  her  mind  the  happenings  of  the 
last  forty-eight  hours.  She  built  up  one  plan  of  pro 
cedure  after  another — sometimes  one  plan  hemmed  in 
her  friend — sometimes  it  included  her  own  escape  from 
an  environment  that  was  becoming  more  intolerable 
every  hour — at  another  time  her  mind  sought  out  a  con 
vict  who  bore  a  heavy  cross  of  shame  and  ignominy  that 
belonged  to  another. 

At  times  she  walked  the  floor — then  she  threw  herself 
on  her  bed  and  found  some  relief  in  tears. 

Someone  came  up  the  wide  staircase  three  steps  at  a 
time.  She  knew  the  sound  and  opened  her  door — 
"Bert,  dear,"  she  called — "come  here  a  moment,  I  want 
you." 

Bert  dropped  into  a  chair  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
make  the  timbers  of  the  house  tremble. 

' '  Hello,  Mam, ' '  he  said  impatiently,  ' '  what 's  the  mat 
ter?" 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,  dear." 

"Well,  I'm  here,  ain't  I?" 

"Yes,  your  body  is  here,  but  your  mind  is  somewhere 
else — if  you  haven't  the  courtesy  or  the  patience  to  sit 
quietly  and  spend  half  an  hour  with  your  mother,  you 
can  go." 

"Aw,  go  on,  Mam,  don't  talk  like  a  Methodist." 

A  few  simple  questions  on  the  meaning  of  life  so 
irritated  the  youth  that  he  moved  restlessly  from  one 
side  to  another — perching  himself  now  on  one  arm  of 
the  chair  and  then  on  the  other. 

"What  would  you  say,  Bert,  if  to-morrow  we  should 


COMMUNITY  OF  FATHERLESS  CHILDREN     173 

strike  those  hideous  chains  from  the  ankles  of  those 
convicts  in  the  'long  shed'?" 

' '  Gee  wiz,  Mam — you  're  dippy,  you  sho  are  ! ' ' 

He  looked  blankly  into  his  mother's  face  and  watched 
the  tears  gather  in  her  eyes. 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment.  He  grabbed  her  in  his 
arms — kissed  her  cheeks  and  said : 

"Take  some  Bromo  Seltzer,  Mam,  and  go  to  bed — • 
there's  a  dear." 

The  next  moment  he  was  testing  the  strength  of  the 
stairs  in  his  descent,  whistling  gaily,  as  he  descended. 

When  the  gardener  arrived,  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  was  too 
tired  to  see  him;  besides,  she  had  a  plan  worked  in  her 
own  mind.  A  plan  of  protest  and  reformation  which 
would  at  least  lighten  the  burden  that  weighed  so  heav 
ily  on  her  own  soul. 

At  five  o'clock  next  morning  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  was 
called,  and  half  an  hour  later  she  was  on  her  way  to  the 
"long  shed." 

Her  appearance  threw  the  camp  into  consternation. 
Huggins  attempted  to  lead  her  aside,  but  she  wouldn't 
be  led. 

"Huggins,"  she  said,  "I  am  going  to  take  breakfast 
with  these  laborers  this  morning  and  I  will  not  permit 
you  to  interfere." 

Huggins  offered  profuse  apologies,  hinting  that  if  he 
had  known,  etc. 

"  Furthermore,  Huggins,  in  the  absence  of  my  hus 
band,  I  will  take  charge  of  this  plantation.  I  have 
money  invested  here,  as  well  as  he  has, — do  you  under 
stand  ? ' ' 

"Y-e-e-s,  Mam,"  he  answered  slowly. 

The  white  men  sat  in  one  group  and  the  negroes  in 
another.  The  chains  were  adjusted  to  their  ankles  and 


174  THE  MAGYAR 

they  were  being  served  with  breakfast.  Everybody  sat 
on  the  ground  with  a  tin  plate  and  a  tin  cup  in  his  lap. 
Several  men  came  with  buckets  of  coffee,  trays  of  pork 
and  grits.  Grits  is  crushed  stewed  corn.  It  is  the 
cheapest  form  of  food  for  man  and  beast  and  is  exten 
sively  used  in  stockades. 

Mrs.  Oglethorpe  demanded  a  cup  and  plate.  They 
were  reluctantly  handed  to  her  and  she  sat  on  the 
ground  by  the  group  of  white  men.  She  had  desired 
to  sit  beside  Ruden  but  he  was  surrounded  by  half  a 
dozen  men  who  would  have  fought  for  a  place  beside 
him. 

"Mr.  Ruden,"  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  said,  "I  would  have 
invited  you  to  breakfast  with  me,  up  at  the  house,  but 
knew  you  Avould  refuse,  so  I  have  done  the  next  best 
thing,  I  have  come  to  take  breakfast  with  you  and  these 
men  who  labor  with  us." 

"I  am  very  much  complimented,  Madam,"  Ruden 
said.  "AYe  at  least  will  feel  assured  that  you  know  our 
bill  of  fare." 

She  sipped  the  coffee,  but  the  fat  pork  and  grits  lay 
untouched  on  her  tin  plate. 

Her  next  move  was  of  a  still  more  sensational  char 
acter. 

"Iluggins,  I  want  these  men  to  work  without  chains 
to-day, ' '  she  said,  and  Huggins  looked  as  if  he  had  sud 
denly  been  stricken  dumb. 

"Th'  Colonel—"  he  got  no  further.  "Yes,  I  know," 
she  broke  in,  "I  know  all  about  it — the  Colonel  is  ab 
sent — I  am  present  and  in  charge.  I  have  just  ex 
plained  that  they  are  to  work  without  chains  to-day ! ' ' 

"Very  well,  Mam— it's  a  go,  an'  ye 're  up  agin'  th' 
responsibility  ov  it." 

"Yes,  I'm  responsible." 


COMMUNITY  OF  FATHERLESS  CHILDREN     175 

Breakfast  over,  the  deputy  under  Iluggins  proceeded 
to  take  the  chains  from  the  legs  of  the  men.  As  soon  as 
Ruden  was  free,  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  took  him  to  one  side 
and  asked  him  if  he  was  aware  of  the  presence  of  his 
wife!  "Oh,  ye.s,  and  knowing  you  in  your  new  role  as 
I  do  I  may  tell  you  that  I  know  that  she  is  aware  of  my 
presence. ' ' 

"You  have  friends  here,  then?" 

"Yes." 

"I  want  to  send  you  with  a  letter  to  the  Governor  to 
day,  and  the  answer  will  probably  obviate  the  necessity 
of  your  return- — I  do  this  as  a  mere  act  of  justice." 

"Don't  think  me  ungrateful,  Mrs.  Oglethorpe,  but 
that  would  be  impossible  for  me — I  will  not  object,  how 
ever,  if  you  can  accomplish  the  same  by  other  means." 

"Big  Bill  and  Joe  are  both  absent,"  the  gardener  told 
Iluggins,  and  Iluggins  swore  but  misunderstood  the 
full  import  of  the  announcement.  AVlien  it  was  ex 
plained  that  they  had  struck  out,  after  supper  Christ 
mas  night,  and  had  not  been  seen  since,  he  ordered  the 
bloodhounds  out  at  once,  and  in  ten  minutes,  with  a 
couple  of  helpers,  he  was  after  his  men. 

Mrs.  Oglethorpe  was  so  engrossed  in  conversation,  with 
Ruden  that  she  didn't  know  what  had  happened  until 
Iluggins'  deputy  ordered  the  men  out  to  work.  Big 
Bill  and  Joe  were  the  best  teamsters  on  the  place.  They 
were  the  ten-year  contract  men  who  had  been  getting 
some  information  on  the  validity  of  their  contracts,  and 
whom  the  Colonel  had  ordered  Iluggins  to  hold  at  any 
cost. 

"This  man  will  stay  to  do  some  work  around  the 
house,"  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  told  the  deputy,  when  he  or 
dered  Ruden  into  the  big  box  wagon  which  stood  ready 
to  move  off. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  WOMAN'S  VENTURE  IN  ETHICS 

THE  men  were  to  spend  the  day  in  the  turpentine  camp 
— it  took  four  big  wagons  to  carry  them.  Before  they 
moved  off,  Mrs.  Oglcthorpe  addressed  them : 

"Men,"  she  said,  "I  have  stricken  the  chains  from 
your  limbs  on  my  own  responsibility,  because  I  believe 
you  will  work  easier  and  because,  too,  I  believe  you  will 
not  betray  my  confidence, — I  will  take  dinner  with  you 
to-day  in  the  woods."  The  men,  black  and  white,  un 
covered  their  heads  while  she  was  speaking.  When  she 
finished,  the  teams  jogged  off  through  the  woods  and 
the  lady  of  the  Mansion  and  the  convict  were  left  alone. 

"You  have  suffered,  Mr.  Ruden." 

"My  Class,  the  "Working  Class  has  suffered,  is  suffer 
ing." 

"What  on  earth  can  one  do  in  the  face  of  such  ap 
palling  conditions?" 

"Wake  up,  as  you  have  done,  and  awaken  others." 

"Pardon  me — how  did  you  learn  of  Madeline's  pres 
ence  with  us?" 

"I  knew  it  the  day  I  came  here — I  know  about  the 
friction  and  the  cause  of  it — the  only  thing  that  I  either 
need  or  want  to  know  is  about  the  health  of  my  chil 
dren." 

' '  I  can  tell  you,  Mr.  Ruden,  they  are  well  and  happy. ' ' 

"Thank  you — I  have  communicated  with  them  but 
circumstances  prevented  them  from  communicating 
with  me." 

176 


A  WOMAN'S  VENTURE  IN  ETHICS        177 

"I  understand." 

"Tell  me  in  a  word  or  two,  if  you  don't  mind," 
Ruden  said  as  they  walked  slowly  toward  the  Mansion, 
""What  led  to  your  awakenment,  Mrs.  Oglethorpe?" 

"Perhaps  I  can  indicate  it  in  a  few  words,  but  it 
would  take  a  volume  to  tell  it  adequately.  There  is  a 
rustic  bench  behind  that  magnolia  tree,  let  us  sit  down 
and  talk  for  awhile." 

"But  the  servants?" 

"You  will  be  gone,  to-morrow,  and  we  may  never  see 
each  other  again." 

They  walked  in  silence  to  the  bench  and  sat  down. 

"I  was  resting  iu  that  hammock  over  there  one  day, 
and  I  overheard  a  conversation  between  you  and  the 
gardener.  That  gave  me  the  first  real  period  of  intro 
spection  I  ever  had.  AYhat  you  said,  made  me  think. 
I  rebelled  against  being  made  to  think  by  a  black  serv 
ant  and  a  white  convict.  I  went  on  with  the  prepara 
tions  for  the  ball.  AVe — Madeline  and  I — had  special 
ists  here  to  prepare  us  for  the  occasion.  I  aided  in  the 
making  of  her  dress.  I  arranged  the  bodice  so  that  her 
finely  shaped  bosom  would  enamour  every  man  who 
looked  upon  it.  All  that  invention,  artifice  and  skill 
could  do  to  charm  men.  I  have  done  that  for  twenty 
years  or  more.  I  have  loved  to  be  admired.  My  life 
has  been  spent  in  the  cultivation  of  social  and  physical 
charm.  An  admiring  crowd  was  my  heaven,  and  to  be 
alone,  with  no  one  to  admire  or  Hatter  me,  was  my  hell. 
My  real  awakenment  occurred  right  here  in  this  arbor 
on  Christmas  Eve,  when  I  saw  Avith  my  own  eyes  the 
result  of  my  labor. 

"I  had  forgotten  that  physical  charm  is  a  two-edged 
sword — I  expected  her  to  charm  the  Governor  and  other 
prominent  guests,  but  when  I  saw  my  husband  fold  her 


178  THE  MAGYAR 

passionately  in  his  arms  and  make  her  faint  with  kisses, 
it  was  as  if  someone  had  pierced  me  with  a  dagger ! ' ' 

She  expected  some  sliow^  of  surprise  or  disgust,  but 
he  was  looking  off  through  the  trees,  and  merely  turned 
his  head  when  she  ceased  talking. 

"You  seem  so  indifferent  and  unmoved,  Mr.  Rudcn!" 

"It's  only  because  I  stood  over  there,  in  the  shadows 
myself,  watching  the  scene  you  have  just  described!" 

"My  God!  and  you  saw  it  also." 

"Yes,  and  I  knew  you  and  she  were  listening  to  me 
last  night,  so  I  took  the  opportunity  to  reveal  my  iden 
tity." 

"What  a  devil's  world  it  is!"  she  said  meditatively. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  said,  "It  is  God's  world,  and 
the  devil,  on  whose  shoulders  we  lay  our  deficiencies  is 
merely  part  of  God's  good  plan  twisted  out  of  its  true 
relation." 

"Oh,  that  I  could  talk  to  you  for  a  whole  day!" 

"You  can  think  for  a  whole  day — think  of  the  crushed 
lives  of  these  chained  slaves — think  of  millions  of  toil 
ers  damned  in  the  world  to  be  slaves  of  idlers,  parasites 
and  thieves — think  how  you  can  rightly  relate  yourself 
to  the  problem,  and  the  best  of  all  the  ages  will  rally  to 
your  support." 

"Forgive  a  woman's  logic,"  she  said,  "but  so  many 
questions  are  crowding  me  that  I  cannot  get  them  out  in 
any  order  whatever — how  do  you  feel  toward  your 
wife,  now,  after  what  you  saw?" 

"Madeline  yearned  for  years  for  social  life— I  could 
not  give  it  to  her — she  is  now  tasting  it — she  will  find 
herself  just  as  you  have — there  must  come  an  a  waken - 
ment — when  it  comes,  she  will  be  ready  to  sit  down  and 
look  facts  calmly  in  the  face." 

The  mist  had  lifted  from  the  valleys  and  the  sun  was 


A  WOMAN'S  VENTURE  IN  ETHICS        179 

pouring  in  upon  them  through  the  trees.  It  \vas  inevi 
table  that  they  should  part — perhaps  forever.  A  strange 
caprice  of  fate  had  brought  them  together  and  the  meet 
ing  resulted  in  a  mutual  desire  to  meet  again.  The 
spot  where  they  sat  had  been  but  a  few  hours  previously 
a  rack  on  which  their  souls  were  torn.  It  was  now  a 
hallowed  spot,  where  a  gleam  of  hope  came  to  each- 
hope  for  the  comrades  he  was  leaving  behind,  in  chains 
— hope  for  the  expression  of  a  newly  awakened  soul ! 

"How  shall  I  acquaint  myself  with  the  movement, 
the  very  name  of  which  I  have  hated — ?" 

"Socialism?" 

"Yes." 

"Reading  the  Bible  isn't  religion,  nor  can  an  appe 
tite  be  appeased  by  studying  a  cookery  book.  The  book 
of  life  lies  open  at  your  hand — study  the  facts  of  your 
own  industrial  environment  and  relate  them  to  life — 
the  highest  life.  Never  mind  names,  doctrines  or  dog 
mas — they  will  be  at  hand  when  you  are  ready  for 
them." 

"Good-bye —  "  she  said,  extending  her  hand. 

"Good-bye,  Comrade,"  he  replied,  as  they  clasped 
hands. 

Ten  minutes  later  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  was  in  communi 
cation  with  the  State's  Executive. 

"It  was  too  late,"  he  said,  to  grant  a  pardon  for  an 
individual,  but  he  would  recall  the  list  issued  on  Christ 
mas  Eve,  and  add  the  name  to  the  list,  as  though  the 
omission  was  an  oversight. 

"I  can  assume  that  the  name  is  now  added,  then?" 

"Yes." 

"William  was  on  hand  to  carry  out  instructions  regard 
ing  the  departure  of  the  guests.  Mrs.  Ruden,  having 
severed  all  amicable  relations  with  her  hostess,  made  it 


180  THE  MAGYAR 

known  to  the  gardener  that  she  would  like  to  be  driven 
to  the  city  in  the  early  afternoon. 

Her  husband  expressed  a  desire  to  take  advantage  of 
Iluggins'  absence  and  take  dinner  with  the  men  in  the 
turpentine  camp. 

AYhen  the  camp  bell  rang,  announcing  the  dinner 
hour,  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  was  on  hand  and  sat  down  with 
the  men.  A  table  had  been  arranged  with  a  long  bench 
on  each  side  and  a  seat  at  one  end,  for  the  hostess. 

Ruden  sat  at  her  right  hand  and  the  deputy  on  her 
left.  There  was  some  embarrassment  and  much  defer 
ence  among  the  men.  The  brutal  levity  and  vulgar  ex 
change  of  obscene  language  was  well  under  control. 
The  intuitive  faculty  is  highly  developed  in  such  men, 
and  they  estimated  the  presence  of  a  woman  at  its  full 
value.  After  dinner,  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  arose  and  said: 

"Men,  one  whom  you  have  called  'Elijah'  is  soon  to 
leave  us,  and  for  his  sake,  we  are  glad.  I  want  him  to 
leave  with  us  a  message  that  will  help  us  to  live." 

There  was  a  loud  clapping  of  hands.  Ruden  said : 
"I  can  only  put  myself  in  your  place,  boys,  and  tell 
what  I  would  do,  if  I  had  to  stay  here— life  in  a  camp 
like  this  is,  for  men,  less  than  the  life  of  the  beasts.  We 
work  harder  and  we  do  not  have  as  good  care. 

''The  State  of  Alabama  robs  vis  and  hands  us  over  to 
a  planter  to  squeeze  out  whatever  manhood  is  left. 
There  is  little  hope.  Mrs.  Oglethorpe  has  made  a  splen 
did  move,  but  she  will  be  laughed  at  by  all  who  live  by 
the  sweat  of  other  people's  faces,  and  I  am  afraid,  will 
be  sneered  at  by  some  of  the  men  for  whom  she  makes 
these  sacrifices.  Under  these  conditions,  I  would  seek 
help  where  I  would  be  most  likely  to  find  it — in  reli 
gion.  It  is  almost  a  waste  of  time  to  talk  politics  to  you 
men,  you  are  despunked— the  manhood  is  washed  out 


A  WOMAN'S  VENTURE  IN  ETHICS        181 

of  you,  and  not  one  in  a  thousand  of  you  would  vote 
against  the  lash  that  cuts  the  flesh  of  your  backs.  I 
can  only  say,  therefore,  that  while  I  have  been  with 
you  I  have  been  able  to  bear  the  conditions  by  fixing  my 
mind  on  things  that  are  beautiful,  pure,  clean  and  noble. 
Mrs.  Oglethorpe  has  just  discovered  you — now  let  her 
add  what  she  can  to  your  lives  on  the  plantation.  I  shall 
think  often  of  you  all  in  the  years  to  come,  and  I  shall 
hope  that  you  are  as  kind  to  each  other  as  you  have  been 
to  me." 

He  did  not  say  "Good  bye."  There  was  no  farewell, 
no  hand-shaking — he  walked  quietly  into  the  pines  and 
they  saw  him  no  more. 

Mrs.  Oglethorpe  was  driven  back  in  a  buggy — she  ex 
pected  to  -overtake  him  on  the  road,  but  he  avoided  her. 

AVilliam  helped  to  rehabilitate  Ruden. 

"When  he  left  the  gardener's  cottage  he  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  business  man.  He  was  dressed  in  a 
dark  gray  suit  with  slouch  hat  and  walking  stick. 

Under  his  arm  he  carried  a  small  bundle  containing  a 
blue  flannel  shirt  and  a  pair  of  overalls. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A    MAKER   AND    BREAKER   OF    CODES 

COLONEL  OGLETIIORPE'S  interview  with  the  President 
lasted  but  ten  minutes,  but  he  spent  ten  days  among  the 
Southern  congressmen,  at  their  homes  in  the  South,  dis 
cussing  the  subject  of  it.  The  last  person  interviewed 
before  he  returned  to  AYetumpka  was  the  Governor  of 
the  State.  That  he  had  been  nerve  strained  to  a  very 
high  degree  was  evident  the  moment  he  entered  his 
home — he  had  little  to  say. 

lie  divested  himself  of  his  overcoat  in  the  hall  and 
went  in  search  of  his  foreman.  There  was  something 
unusual  in  his  manner,  but  nothing  disappointing  in  it  to 
his  wife.  She,  too,  had  been  considerably  strained. 

"Hello!"  was  his  greeting  to  her.  "Hello!"  she  an 
swered  coldly,  and  they  went  their  ways  from  the  hall — 
each  rather  glad  to  escape  the  other. 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  he  entered  his  wife's  room 
without  knocking,  a  change  had  taken  place  in  his  tem 
per.  His  rather  negative  impatience  had  assumed  the 
shape  of  a  positively  angry  mood. 

"Iluggins  has  just  been  telling  me  of  the  idiotic 
things  you  have  been  doing  in  my  absence,"  he  said, 
"and  I  want  to  find  out  whether  you  are  crazy  or  not?" 

She  was  lying  on  a  sofa  near  the  window.  She  turned 
her  head  toward  him,  and  for  a  moment  looked  at  him 
inquiringly.  Her  silence  added  to  his  anger. 

"I  have  no  objection  to  your  charity  business,"  he 
continued  in  a  harsh  and  excited  manner — "but  when 

182 


A  MAKER  AND  BREAKER  OF  CODES     183 

you  sit  down  to  eat  with  niggers  and  convicts  you  dis 
grace  your  station  in  life  and  mine,  too,  and  I  don't  pro 
pose  to  stand  for  it!" 

Mrs.  Oglethorpe  arose  to  a  sitting  posture  on  the  sofa. 

' '  Disgrace —  ' '  she  got  no  further. 

"Yes,  disgrace!"  he  shouted.  "And  the  next  time 
you  interfere  in  my  business  affairs  don't  be  surprised 
if  my  hired  servant  tells  you  to  mind  your  own  busi 
ness  ! ' ' 

She  arose  to  her  feet — full  of  feeling — livid  with  in 
dignation.  She  made  several  attempts  to  speak,  but  he 
always  interposed  with  a  harsh  sound  and  drowned  her 
voice.  He  became  abusive — it  wasn't  wholly  a  personal 
matter,  and  she,  in  a  vague  manner,  understood  that. 
He  was  relieving  himself  of  a  volley  of  pent-up  feeling, 
that  had  been  growing  larger  every  day  since  his  visit 
to  the  White  House.  AYhen  the  force  of  his  abuse  was 
spent  he  turned  toward  the  door.  By  a  quick  move 
ment  she  faced  him,  with  her  back  close  to  the  partly 
closed  door. 

"I  want  you  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say,  now,"  she 
said.  She  was  pale  and  trembling,  but  there  was  a  look 
of  scorn  in  her  face  that  held  him — startled  him. 

"My  right  to  humanize  your  brutal  affairs  is  based  on 
the  fact  that  half  the  capital  invested  belongs  to  me ! ' ' 
was  her  first  remark.  He  was  taken  aback  but  stared 
loose-jawed  at  a  woman  he  had  really  never  seen  before. 
There  was  no  opportunity  to  reply,  the  words  had 
scarcely  escaped  her  lips  when  the  second  thrust  came. 

"Perhaps  I  am  insane,  and  perhaps  Jenkins  is,  also. 
I  understand  you  have  had  him  so  adjudged — but  the 
community — the  country  isn't,  insane,  and  sooner  or 
later,  the  rottenness,  the  murder,  theft,  miscegenation 
and  cruelty  that  is  warp  and  woof  of  your  industrial 


184  THE  MAGYAR 

process  will  be  made  known — the  mills  of  the  gods  grind 
slowly,  but  they  grind!" 

""What  the  -     -  do  you  mean?"  he  hissed. 

"Just  what  I  say." 

"By-  — !  if  a  man  uttered  those  words  he  would  pay 
the  penalty  with  his  life!"  lie  shook  his  clenched  fist 
in  her  face.  Without  a  tremor,  she  continued: 

"Yes,  I  know, — you  have  been  coward  enough  to  kill 
for  less  than  that,  but  I  have  not  finished  yet." 

"But  I  have  finished  listening  to  your  hysterical  rav- 
ings." 

She  raised  her  voice  and  prepared  to  resist,  if  need 
be,  his  exit. 

"If  it  is  impossible  to  save  you,  I  shall  save  myself— 
I  shall  wash  my  hands  of  you — and  your  mode  of  life — 
I  shall  refuse  to  be  a  mere  member  of  your  harem,  with 
but  the  empty  honor  of  a  social  status  to  distinguish  me 
from  negresses  and  defenseless  girls  who  have  borne  you 
more  children  than  I  have!"  There  was  a  stinging  bit 
terness  in  the  words  that  stung  him  to  the  heart.  He 
seized  her  by  the  throat  and  threw  her  to  the  floor 
with  an  oath.  He  rushed  into  the  hall,  took  his  hat 
from  the  rack  and  went  out  into  the  yard. 

William  was  sent  for,  in  a  hurry.  Huggins  was  called 
also.  They  were  told  that  no  "sentimental  humbug" 
would  be  permitted  for  a  moment. 

For  ten  days  the  convicts  had  laid  down  to  sleep  with 
out  being  chained  to  the  wall.  Their  food  had  been 
served  in  decent  shape  and  they  had  been  treated  as 
human  beings.  The  proprietor  brought  the  new  regime 
to  an  abrupt  end,  by  a  peremptory  order,  and  the  hope 
engendered  for  ten  days  gave. way  to  despair  and  hate. 

' '  Look  here,  Huggins, ' '  the  Colonel  said,  after  he  had 
given  the  reactionary  order — "don't  take  this  fellow 


A  MAKER  AND  BREAKER  OF  CODES     185 

they  call  'Elijah'  out  to  the  camp  to-morrow — leave  him 
down  here  in  the  shack — I  want  to  see  him  alone." 

"lie's  gone,  sir!" 

"Gone?" 

"Yes'r,  th'  Governor  released  him,  I  think — tho'  I'm 
not  dead  sho — on  the  request  of  th'  Missus." 

"Oh,  hell — he's  the  beast  that  has  raised  a  rumpus 
that  has  taken  me  ten  days  to  straighten  out.  Now  he 's 
gone  to  continue  his  lying  elsewhere ! ' ' 

"Yere's  Willyum  a'comin',  sir — 'e  knows,  Ah  'spect, 
whar  'e  is." 

"A\rhy  wasn't  I  informed  about  the  transfer  of  that 
convict— William  ? ' ' 

"Which  convict,  sir?" 

"You  know  d d  well  which  convict — the  cracker 

who  worked  the  religious  game  so  perfectly  on  all  of 
you!" 

"He  was  a  State  convict,  sir,  and  was  subject  to  State 
law — the  Governor  paroled  him." 

"Can  he  be  found?" 

"I  think  he  can  be  located,  sir." 

"Then  put  Iluggins  on  the  trail." 

"May  I  venture  to  suggest  to  you,  sir,  that  there's 
trouble  brewing  over  the  case  of  Big  Bill  and  Joe?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Their  families  have  left  their  shacks  and  gone — I 
know  not  where." 

"When  did  they  go?" 

: '  The  day  after  their  husbands  were  brought  back  and 
put  in  irons." 

"What's  the  trouble,  then?" 

"The  Federal  Authorities — I  think — are  investigat 
ing  the  cases." 

"Look  here,  you  men,  got  back  those  nigger  women, 


186  THE  MAGYAR 

or  get  to  hell  out  of  here — both  of  you ! ' '  The  men  were 
silent.  They  knew  what  that  meant.  Big  Bill  and  Joe 
had  been  brought  back — charges  preferred  before  a  jus 
tice  of  the  peace  who  was  an  employee  of  the  master, 
and  they  were  imprisoned  for  six  months  each.  The 
imprisonment,  of  course,  was  in  the  Oglethorpe  stock 
ade.  In  addition  to  the  imprisonment  they  were  both 
tied  to  logs  and  whipped  with  a  shingle  on  the  soles  of 
their  bare  feet — fifty  lashes  each.  The  imprisonment 
was  for  breach  of  contract,  and  "obtaining  money  under 
false  pretenses."  The  whipping  was  for  infractions  of 
the  stockade  rules. 

As  long  as  they  were  permitted  to  spend  one  night  a 
week  with  their  wives  and  children,  the  men  could  be 
controlled,  but  Southern  planters  know  that  with  wives 
and  children  gone  the  men  would  often  suffer  death 
rather  than  submit. 

"Get  out  every  deputy  in  the  place — alarm  every 
sheriff — and  get  those  niggers  back  at  once!"  was  the 
final  order,  and  he  left  the  men  looking  at  each  other  in 
consternation. 

"Just  a  moment,  Colonel — "  said  William,  as  he  fol 
lowed  him. 

"I  have  no  time  to  bandy  words  with  you — obey  my 
orders — then  I'll  listen  to  whatever  you  have  to  say." 
He  didn't  stop — but  William  walked  by  his  side  and  in 
formed  him  as  he  walked,  that  as  far  as  he  was  con 
cerned,  his  service  for  the  Colonel  was  at  an  end.  The 
Colonel  stopped,  looked  at  the  black  man  for  a  moment — 

"You  ungrateful  beast  of  a  nigger!"  he  said.  "If  I 
had  a  horsewhip  I  would  teach  you  a  lesson  you  wouldn  't 
forget  in  a  hurry." 

"I'll  furnish  you  one, — stop  a  moment — Huggins!" 
shouted  William.  "Huggins!"  Huggins  heard  and 


A  MAKER  AND  BREAKER  OF  CODES     187 

surmised  trouble — he  came  up  to  the  men  on  a  trot,  but 
before  he  reached  them  the  Colonel  had  the  black  man 
by  the  throat.  It  was  but  for  an  instant,  however.  He 
wrenched  himself  loose,  and  with  a  blow  the  crash  of 
which  could  be  heard  a  hundred  yards  away,  he  knocked 
the  planter  on  his  back.  Huggins  made  a  show  of  de 
fending  his  master — but  it  was  only  a  show.  He  knew 
his  man  and  feared  him.  Oglethorpe  groped  for  a  re 
volver,  but  it  was  missing.  lie  yelled  for  Huggins  to 
hand  him  his,  but  the  negro  was  ready. 

"All  right,  Huggins,  hand  him  one — I'll  wait  till  he 
gets  it  and  then  I'll  rid  the  earth  of  a  cowardly  cur  who 
doesn't  possess  the  morals  of  a  dog — hand  it  to  him!" 
As  he  spoke  he  drew  his  Colt  revolver  and  stood  erect 
and  ready. 

Huggins  hesitated.  Oglethorpe  rose  to  his  feet  foam 
ing  at  the  mouth.  The  sound  of  wheels  was  heard  in 
the  direction  of  the  stables — when  the  planter  spoke  he 
could  scarcely  be  heard,  for  the  coachman  was  driving 
at  full  speed  toward  the  house. 

His  master  called  him,  but  he  drove  on,  pulling  up  at 
the  side  door — another  moment,  and  Mrs.  Oglethorpe 
had  seated  herself  beside  the  driver  and  they  W7ere  off. 
The  Colonel  shouted,  but  there  was  no  response.  He 
rushed  into  the  house,  hissing  as  he  left  the  two  men : 
"  I  '11  see  to  you,  nigger,  in  a  few  minutes. ' ' 

His  first  act  was  to  telephone  for  the  sheriff  and  a 
posse,  then  to  the  chief  of  police,  instructing  him  to  ar 
rest  the  coachman  on  sight,  and  return  the  horse  and 
buggy.  Then  he  went  upstairs,  furnished  himself  with 
a  revolver— loaded  and  primed. 

A  note  lay  on  his  table — it  was  in  his  wife's  hand 
writing — he  was  not  in  a  mood  to  read  any  farewell  or 
sentimental  missives.  He  picked  it  up,  then  threw  it 


188  THE  MAGYAR 

down  again,  and  passed  on.       When  half  way  down  the 
stairs  he  returned,  opened  the  note  and  read : 

"Henceforth  you  can  communicate  with  me  through  my  law 
yers,  Blakely  and  Dorman. 

"I  shall  sue  for  a  divorce,  naming  but  one  co-respondent — a 
negress.  It  was  a  convict  in  your  stockade  who  pointed  out  to 
me  the  fact  that  although  free  love  and  unbridled  lust  had  re 
sulted  in  three  million  human  beings  who  are  neither  black  nor 
white,  that  it  was  not  on  record  that  any  white  woman  had 
ever  named  a  black  woman  as  a  co-respondent.  In  establishing 
this  precedent  I  shall  not  only  atone  for  my  sex,  but  I  shall  also 
recognize  the  black  mother  of  your  children  as  a  woman — a  hu 
man  being,  like  myself. 

"MABEL." 

He  tore  the  note  to  shreds  and  threw  it  on  the  floor 
with  a  muttered  curse. 

An  hour  later,  the  sheriff  and  his  posse  arrived.  They 
were  taken  into  the  planter's  office  where  a  bottle  of 
champagne  was  opened  and  over  its  contents  the  affair 
discussed. 

"He's  too  good  a  nigger  to  dispense  with,  but  I  must 
punish  him  somehow,"  the  Colonel  told  the  sheriff. 

' '  Lock  him  up  for  a  week, ' '  the  sheriff  suggested. 

"No,  I'd  lose  him." 

"Then  let  Jim,  here,  give  him  a  thrashing."  Jim 
was  a  deputy  of  large  physical  proportions  and  nodded 
assent  to  the  suggestion.  "While  they  were  talking  the 
chief  of  police  was  announced.  He  had  left  the  coach 
man  in  the  lock-up  and  had  driven  the  buggy  home  him 
self. 

He  was  invited  to  join  the  champagne  party  in  the 
office.  In  the  hall,  alone,  he  described  the  arrest.  He 
had  permitted  the  coachman  to  drive  Mrs.  Oglethorpe 
to  the  depot,  where  she  had  boarded  a  train  for  Atlanta. 


A  MAKER  AND  BREAKER  OF  CODES     189 

The  sheriff  and  the  chief  were  taken  apart  and  told,  in 
strictest  confidence,  the  cause  of  their  summons  to 
"Wetumpka.  It  was  scarcely  necessary  for  a  member  of 
Congress  to  do  that,  hut  there  was  every  prospect  that 
he  would  need  them  more  in  the  future  than  he  had  in 
the  past,  and  champagne  and  cigars  and  a  confidential 
chat  made  them  somewhat  more  "solid"  than  the  mere 
hope  of  the  Federal  patronage  at  the  Colonel's  disposal; 
he  knew  his  men. 

AVhen  it  was  time  for  Jim,  the  deputy,  to  pay  his  re 
spects  to  his  unknown  opponent,  the  Colonel  had  changed 
his  mind  again,  and  suggested  a  postponement.  The 
point  that  he  pressed,  however,  was  the  return  of  the 
wives  of  Big  Bill  and  Joe.  He  offered  a  reward  of  a 
hundred  dollars  for  their  delivery  or  information  lo 
cating  their  present  whereabouts.  The  butler  brought 
in  some  sandwiches  and  another  bottle  of  champagne 
and  the  officials  departed,  with  the  feeling  that  they  had 
either  been  at  a  funeral  or  a  wedding. 

As  soon  as  he  was  alone,  the  Colonel  ordered  a  high 
ball  to  steady  his  nerves,  and  a  little  later  a  second,  in 
order  to  give  Huggins  some  orders  that  required  cour 
age  as  well  as  nerve  to  give. 

He  had  long  desired  to  make  better,  or  at  least  sep 
arate  provision  for  the  white  convicts,  but  not  until  a 
black  man  had  knocked  him  down  did  he  feel  that  he 
could  afford  to  make  the  change.  Huggins  was  called 
again. 

"Get  the  old  barn  ready  for  the  white  men  to-night, 
Huggins,"  he  said.  "I  have  been  thinking  of  making 
the  change  for  some  time — it  is  but  the  work  of  an  hour 
—let  it  be  done  right  off!" 

"We  will  have  to  have  the  blacksmith,  sir,  to  put  the 
iron  rings  in  the  wall." 


190  THE  MAGYAR 

"Get  him,  then — get  him  at  once — make  no  delay! 
The  thing  will  have  to  be  done  to-night!" 

It  was  nearly  midnight  before  the  white  convicts  were 
marched  out,  sixty  of  them,  to  their  new  quarters.  This 
was  Colonel  Oglethorpe's  tribute  to  his  race,  as  he 
smarted  under  the  sting  of  his  wife's  note.  Sixty-five 
negroes  were  left  in  the  filthy  "long  shed." 

The  white  men  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  the  com 
pliment  paid  them.  They  grumbled  a  good  deal  and 
acted  sulkily  as  they  were  ordered  around  in  the  prog 
ress  of  the  transfer. 

They  knew  they  would  miss  the  singing.  White  men 
never  sing  in  captivity — black  men  sing  under  all  cir 
cumstances  and  in  all  conditions.  Every  night,  around 
the  camp  fire  the  black  men  sang  the  slave  songs  of  their 
race.  They  gave  a  spiritual  wind-up  to  the  slave  labor 
of  the  day. 

Colonel  Oglethorpe  walked  the  floor  of  his  chamber 
until  a  very  late  hour.  He  was  utterly  unconscious  that 
there  was  anything  wrong  with  what  his  wife  called  the 
"industrial  process."  He  had  never  known  any  other 
life  than  that  of  master  and  slave.  The  growing 
thought  of  the  Avorld  that  both  could  be  abolished  was 
unworthy  of  serious  consideration  to  him.  Indeed,  he 
had  scarcely  heard  it  hinted  at.  The  status  quo  was  a 
thing  that  as  a  religious  teacher  he  had  always  con 
nected  with  God  and  the  moral  order  of  the  world. 

"With  his  personal  life  he  was  not  so  vague.  He  knew 
he  had  violated  his  own  canons — but  then,  his  violations 
were  mere  manifestations  of  a  weak  will — he  knew  he  had 
that,  but  so  had  all  the  best  men  and  women  of  his  ac 
quaintance. 

"Why  should  she  fly  in  the  face  of  customs  as  old  as 
Adam?"  he  asked  himself.  ""Whv  didn't  she  do  as 


A  MAKER  AND  BREAKER  OF  CODES     191 

she  has  so  often — get  angry  for  a  day  and  then  make 
up  again?"  As  he  paced  the  floor  this  question  came 
to  him:  "If  your  wife  had  borne  children  to  other 
men,  both  white  and  black,  would  you  go  on  living 
with  her?" 

"Of  course  not,"  was  the  ready  answer.  "But  then 
there  is  one  code  for  wromen  and  another  code  for  men." 
It  was  unthinkable  to  him  that  a  woman  should  be  either 
a  code  maker  or  a  code  breaker — those  things  were  the 
prerogatives  of  men — "women's  sphere"  was  the  home. 
As  a  last  resort  he  drugged  himself  with  brandy  and  fell 
into  a  stupor,  undressed,  on  his  bed. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  establishment  was 
aroused  by  cries  of  "Fire!" 

The  old  barn,  that  had  been  tenanted  but  a  few  hours 
with  the  white  convicts  was  enveloped  in  flames.  The 
upper  floor  was  filled  with  forty  tons  of  hay,  and  when 
those  first  to  the  rescue  arrived  the  entire  upper  story 
wras  about  to  cave  in.  An  axe  soon  smashed  a  hole  in 
the  side  wall,  but  out  through  it  shot  a  tongue  of  flame 
that  scorched  the  rescuers  and  drove  them  back.  A 
minute  later  the  hay,  hay  loft  and  roof,  came  down 
with  a  crash,  and  the  flimsy  side  walls  bulged  as  if  by 
the  force  of  a  mighty  blow  pipe.  Not  a  cry  was  heard 
from  within, — not  a  groan.  The  burning  walls  were 
torn  apart — at  the  risk  of  life,  but  not  a  sign  was  visi 
ble.  It  was  thought  at  first  that  the  men  had  escaped 
and  set  fire  to  the  place,  but  in  the  course  of  a  few 
hours  the  chains  were  pulled  out,  and  with  each  link  a 
charred  and  blackened  bundle  of  bones,  all  that  was 
left  of  sixty  human  beings — sixty-one,  rather,  for  one 
unchained  bundle  lay  near  the  door — it  was  the  deputy, 
who,  it  was  supposed,  had  been  choked  with  smoke  and 
unable  to  escape.  The  holocaust  was  complete.  No 


192  THE  MAGYAR 

tears  were  shed,  no  hearts  in  pain,  for  these  men  were 
outcasts,  whom  the  State  had  handed  over  to  the  wheel 
of  labor  at  so  much  per  head. 

Colonel  Oglethorpe  could  not  be  aroused  from  his 
stupor  until  the  family  physician  was  called.  When 
the  situation  was  explained,  he  said:  "Too  bad,  send  an 
account  of  it  to  the  Convict  Board  and  get  sixty  men  to 
take  their  places." 

For  a  week,  straggling  visitors  from  various  parts  of 
the  State  came  to  look  for  the  "remains"  of  relatives. 
They  were  all  poor  people,  of  course,  and  were  shown 
a  mound  in  the  woods,  where  the  charred  bones  were 
deposited.  There  was  an  Associated  Press  dispatch  an 
inch  long  in  the  papers,  a  few  letters  of  inquiry,  and  the 
thing  was  over. 

A  week  after  "the  destruction  of  the  barn,"  as  the 
holocaust  was  called,  Llwellyn  Oglethorpe,  Jr.,  of  Colo 
nial  University,  made  an  unexpected  call  at  the  We- 
tumpka  Mansion. 

"I  knew  there  was  something  wrong,  Dad,"  he  said, 
as  he  kissed  his  father  in  the  hall. 

"Why  did  you  come  without  a  note  or  a  telegram, 
boy?" 

"Well,  the  fact  is,  Dad,  I  got  into  a  peck  of  trouble 
and  left." 

"What  was  the  nature  of  the  trouble?" 

"I  picked  up  a  chance  acquaintance — 

"A  woman,  eh"?"  broke  in  the  father. 

"Yes — a  girl  with  a  pretty  face,  but  no  education — 
I  went  farther  than  I  ought  to  have  gone,  but  when  they 
tried  to  put  the  screws  on,  and  chain  me  to  her,  I  broke 
away  and  quit!" 

"What's  your  next  move?" 

"Well,  I  want  to  settle  down  to  business.     I  don't 


A  MAKER  AND  BREAKER  OF  CODES     193 

care  for  a  parchment  certificate — it's  the  man  that 
counts  these  days,  so  I'm  in  for  business — I'll  take  a 
foreman 's  job — anything ! ' ' 

Iluggins  put  the  young  man  to  work  as  superintend 
ent  of  the  turpentine  still — situated  a  mile  and  a  half  in 
the  woods.  Here  he  worked  by  day,  and  by  night  he 
ran  the  gamut  of  the  clubs  and  the  homes  of  the  young 
women  of  the  city's  smartest  set. 

The  Colonel  had  a  caller  one  day,  a  few  weeks  after 
his  son's  return  from  college.  It  was  the  United  States 
Marshal  for  the  Southern  District  of  Alabama.  As  a 
Member  of  Congress,  he  was  saved  the  humiliation  of  an 
arrest,  but  was  notified  of  a  hearing  before  the  United 
States  Commission  on  a  charge  of  peonage.  The 
Colonel  was  indignant,  but  promised  to  attend  in  person. 
"Of  course,  it  will  be  sub  rosa,  Colonel,"  the  Marshal 
said,  "and  we  will  see  that  the  press  doesn't  get  hold 
of  it," 

The  result  of  the  hearing  was  somewhat  disconcerting 
to  the  planter,  for  a  charge  was  found  and  given 
to  the  Grand  Jury.  The  charge  was  based  on  the  ten- 
year  contract  men  and  the  forcible  return  to  the  camp 
and  subsequent  whipping  of  the  men's  wives. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

FINDS   A   CAVE  OF  ADULLAM 

AYiiEN  Ruden  left  AYetumpka,  he  walked  to  Montgomery 
and  found  a  furnished  room  in  a  rear  tenement  off  the 
main  street.  The  address  of  this  obscure  lodging  house 
had  been  furnished  by  his  friend,  the  gardener.  He 
had  four  dollars  and  fifty  cents.  He  paid  three-fourths 
of  the  amount  for  the  room  for  a  week,  and  with  the 
balance  provided  himself  with  food,  paper  and  pencils. 
Pie  estimated  that  his  provisions  would  last  him  ten 
days. 

His  room  was  on  the  fifth  floor  back.  His  landlady 
rented  the  room  on  the  assumption  that  he  was  a  day 
laborer  and  would  only  occupy  it  during  the  night. 

He  compromised  with  her  by  offering  to  do  the  nec 
essary  cleaning  himself.  He  offered  also  to  pay  for 
extra  oil  if  he  burned  more  than  was  the  custom.  He 
felt  it  necessary  to  tell  her  just  what  he  was  doing,  and 
why  he  was  in  such  reduced  circumstances.  This  was 
a  mistake  in  his  judgment,  for  she  almost  worried  her 
self  sick  on  account  of  his  food.  Every  morning  she 
asked  him  with  a  new  tenderness  in  her  voice,  whether 
he  wouldn't  have  a  cup  of  good  warm  coffee? 

"It  will  only  be  wasted,"  she  would  say  entreatingly, 
but  he  steadily  and  courteously  refused,  telling  her  that 
if  he  ever  needed  a  cup  of  coffee  he  would  surely  ask 
for  it. 

His  provisions  held  out  eleven  days.  Then  he  had 
to  explain  matters  to  the  landlady.  She  was  so  over- 

194 


'LIJAH  FINDS  A  CAVE  OF  ADULLAM       195 

joyed  at  the  prospect  of  helping  him  that  for  a  minute 
she  was  unable  to  reply. 

"If  you'd  only  be  sort  o'  social  wi'  us,  mister,  we'd 
be  more'n  pleased  to  hev  ye  fur  a  year!" 

"I  have  been  very  busy,"  Ruden  said,  "but  I  have 
sent  off  my  first  piece  of  work  to  New  York  and  I  am 
taking  it  easy  for  a  day  or  two,  and  will  be  delighted 
to  meet  your  husband  and  have  a  talk  when  it's  con 
venient  for  you." 

"We're  not  eddycated  folks,  mister,  but  we-uns  know 
when  we  meet  them  as  are." 

"Oh!  Education  cuts  no  figure  here — we  are  just 
human  folks." 

"M'  husband  an'  me  hev  been  on  th'  point  ov  askin' 
yer  advice  several  times — but  we  never  liked,  because  ye 
were  so  quiet  and  busy  like." 

"Well,  while  I  am  here — I  wish  you  would  feel  free 
to  call  upon  me  for  anything  I  can  do." 

"Then  ye  expect  to  go?" 

"In  a  few  weeks,  perhaps  it  may  be  longer — but  what 
was  it  you  thought  I  could  advise  you  about?  If  I  can 
serve  you  I  shall  do  so  gladly. ' ' 

"Well,  mister,  to  tell  th'  truth,  it's  about  yerself !" 

"Oh!     Well,  what  is  it?" 

"Ain't  you  a  stockade  man?" 

"AVell,  I  was  a  convict,  but  I  have  served  my  time." 

She  suddenly  left  the  room,  returning  in  a  few  min 
utes.  "Ain't  that  you?"  she  asked,  as  she  held  up  a 
photograph  of  himself  in  stripes  and  chains. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "  'Miss  Tiffany'  took  that.  How  did 
you  get  hold  of  it?" 

"We  have  a  roomer — she's  a  bit  odd — ' 

"It  must  be  'Miss  Tiffany'!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Her  name's  Hawkins — Mistress  Hawkins,  sir." 


196  THE  MAGYAR 

"When  is  she  at  home?" 

"Since  you've  been  here — she  comes  in  late  and  goes 
away  early." 

' '  At  any  special  time  1 ' ' 

"No,  ye  cain't  never  tell." 

Ruden  pondered.  A  score  of  times,  he  remembered, 
she  had  eluded  him  at  Wetmnpka.  He  recalled  how 
William,  the  gardener,  had  failed  to  help  him  get  an 
interview  with  a  woman  who,  though  old  and  gray- 
haired,  was  actively  engaged  in  doing  things  around  a 
stockade  that  put  her  under  suspicion  of  the  men  of 
more  than  average  intelligence. 

"Well,"  Ruden  said,  finally,  "I  would  like  to  meet 
her  some  time  and  if  you  can  help  me,  I'll  be  grateful 
to  you." 

A  few  days  later,  the  landlady  informed  Ruden  that 
Mistress  Hawkins  was  to  have  a  guest  and  had  asked 
her  to  prepare  supper  for  them.  But  Ruden  tried  to 
dismiss  the  suspect  from  his  mind. 

One  day  he  was  walking  up  a  side  street,  when  he 
noticed  in  a  shop  window,  a  copy  of  the  Appeal  to  Rea 
son.  It  was  spread  out  to  display  a  cartoon.  He  en 
tered  and  asked  for  a  copy,  as  he  fumbled  for  a  nickel. 
"It  ain't  fur  sale,"  the  man  said,  "but  ye  can  look  it 
over. ' ' 

A  small  group  sat  around  a  stove  in  the  back  end  of 
the  store.  They  were  watching  Ruden,  and  had  evi 
dently  stopped  the  conversation  to  hear  what  he  had 
to  say. 

' '  Do  you  carry  a  red  card  ? "  he  asked  the  proprietor. 

"Ah  sho  do,"  he  replied.  "Whar  do  yo'  stand  in 
sich  a  showdown,  stranger?" 

"I  am  a  member  of  Local  New  Oxford,"  he  said, 
"but  I've  lost  my  card."  The  words  had  scarcely  es- 


'LIJAII  FINDS  A  CAVE  OF  ADULLAM       197 

caped  his  lips,  when  a  woman  stepped  out  from  the  stove 
corner  and  said  in  a  broad  Southern  drawl : 

"Ah  hope  ye 're  enjoying  yer  journey  in  th'  South." 
Kuden  took  the  extended  hand.  It  was  "Mistress 
Hawkins"  of  the  boarding  house  and  "Miss  Tiffany" 
of  the  stockade. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  looked  into  her  face.  Her 
hair  was  white— her  face  was  wrinkled  and  yellow.  She 
wore  an  ill-fitting  hat  and  clothes  that  seemed  a  genera 
tion  old. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  don't  think  I  have." 

"Waal,  ye '11  enjoy  th'  results  of  it,  Ah'vc  no  doubt." 

Kuden  was  conscious  that  the  men  in  the  back  of  the 
store  were  watching  and  listening — an  uncanny  feeling 
crept  over  him.  He  was  suspicious  and  uneasy. 

"I  think  you  are  a  spy, "  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 

"AVaal,  yer  kind  o'  generous  t'  lower  yer  voice  whin 
ye  accuse  me!" 

"You  are  an  unsocial  neighbor,  too,"  he  said,  in  the 
same  tone.  "You  live  on  the  same  floor  with  me — your 
drawers  are  stuffed  with  my  photographs  and  yet  you 
never  asked  me  to  tea — nor  to  call." 

There  was  a  vein  of  humor  in  these  words. 

"AV-a-al,"  she  drawled,  "since  ye've  ax'd  yerself, 
whin  will  ye  come  ? ' ' 

"I'll  join  your  other  guest  when  he  comes." 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  looked  steadily  at  him, 
"then  Ah '11  send  ye  a  formal  invite — good  bye!" 

She  picked  up  her  basket — a  common  market  basket, 
pushed  her  arm  through  the  handle,  and  went  out  of 
the  door  at  a  lively  pace — lively  for  an  old  woman. 

Ruden  accepted  the  invitation  to  sit  down. 

"Can  you  explain  to  me  how  it  happens  that  a  black 
man  and  a  white  man — plasterers — can  be  found  work- 


198  THE  MAGYAR 

ing  side  by  side  on  the  same  seafford  here  in  Alabama  ? 
I  find  it  so  in  other  trades  as  well." 

"Shure, "  said  Hank  Paterson,  the  store-keeper,  "the 
Plasterers'  Union  draws  no  color  line — that's  why!" 

"Then  why,  in  the  Socialist  movement,  have  you  two 
branches — white  and  black?" 

"That's  a  cinch,  too,"  Hank  said,  "when  a  nigger 
hits  the  Socialist  idee  he's  hell  on  meetin's  right  away 
— ye  caint  glut  'im  nohow.  Onct  a  week  satisfies  us 
whites,  but  ev'ry  time  ye  meet  a  nigger  he's  either  goin' 
to  work  or  goin'  to  a  Socialist  meetin'!" 

Hank,  in  the  intervals  between  attendance  upon  his 
customers,  showed  with  some  degree  of  pride,  his  circu 
lating  Socialist  library.  It  occupied  a  corner  of  the 
store.  He  had  his  own  system  of  keeping  track  of  his 
lendings.  The  entire  inside  of  a  cupboard  door  was 
covered  with  the  names  of  the  borrowers  and  the  cata 
logue,  a  large  sheet  of  brown  paper,  covered  the  outside 
of  the  same  door.  Men  kept  coming  and  going — evi 
dently  the  Delicatessen  store  was  a  Cave  of  Adullam, 
where  the  radicalism  of  Montgomery  had  focused  itself. 

"Hello!  You  ol'  white  trash  niggah!"  a  black  man 
said,  as  he  bounced  into  the  store — ""What's  d'  news 
gwine  t'be,  huh?" 

"Have  you  heard  from  Willyum?"  asked  Hank. 

"Sho — an'  ol'  Oglethorpe's  up  agin  it  fo'  sho  dis 
time — he  sho  is." 

"Do  you  mean  AVilliarn — the  gardener?"  asked  Ru- 
den. 

' '  Yep — he 's  ma  brother ! ' ' 

"Is  he  still  at  "Wetumpka ? " 

"He's  right  heah  in  town,  boss." 

"I  would  like  to  meet  him — please  give  him  this  name 
and  address  and  ask  him  to  come  and  see  me." 


'LIJAII  FINDS  A  CAVE  OF  ADULLAM       199 

He  scribbled  his  name  and  address  on  a  slip  of  paper 
nnd  handed  it  to  the  negro. 

"Sam's  a  good  fellow,"  Hank  said  when  the  negro 
left,  "but  he  ain't  nowheres  near  like  his  brother  Wil 
liam.  He's  a  corker — took  the  gold  medal  at  Harvard 
— for  a  nig'  that  ain't  so  bad,  is  it?" 

"No,  it  isn't  so  bad,  but  I  know  better  things  than 
that  about  him.  I  worked  with  him — or  rather  under 
him,  at  Oglethorpe's." 

"Ye  did,  hey?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  ye  know  "Lijah,'  up  thar?" 

"They  used  to  call  me  'Elijah.'  " 

' '  For  heaven 's  sake  ! ' ' 

"Why  are  you  surprised?" 

"Ah'm  not — Ah'm  jest  tickled  clean  off  m'  trolley. 
Jake,"  he  said,  to  a  man  in  the  corner,  "keep  an  eye  on 
the  store." 

"Elijah,"  he  said,  "come  up  here." 

Ruden  followed  him  upstairs.  There  he  led  him 
into  a  small  room — clean  and  tidy — a  room  that  had 
b.'en  prepared  with  taste  and  care. 

"Now,  we've  had  that  ready  fur  ye  for  weeks — git 
yer  traps  an'  honor  us  b'  hangin'  out  here  as  long  as 
ye  can — will  ye?" 

"It's  very  kind  of  you,  Comrade,  and  I  will  gladly 
accept  your  invitation." 

"Will  ye  come  t 'night?" 

"No,  not  for  a  couple  of  days." 

When  Ruden  arrived  at  his  room  he  found  a  note  on 
his  table.  It  was  scribbled  in  a  child's  handwriting: 

"Occupant  of  room  7  is  invited  to  sup  with  occu 
pant  of  room  9,  to-night,  at  seven." 

The  landlady  knocked  gently  at  the  door. 


200 

"Come  in." 

"Ye  got  yer  invite?" 

"Yes." 

"Yer  eomin',  ain't  ye?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"Ah '11  git  ev'ry  thing  ready — put  it  on  th'  table  and 
leave  ye's. " 

""Will  you  kindly  let  me  know  when  it  strikes  seven, 
please?" 

"Sho— Ah '11  tell  ye  in  good  time." 

Meantime  he  trimmed  his  Van  Dyke  beard,  brushed 
his  clothes  and  added  whatever  improvements  he  could 
to  his  physical  appearance. 

"I'll  bet  the  old  hag  is  a  spy,"  he  muttered  as  he 
awaited  his  summons.  "That  drawl  of  hers — 

There  was  a  gentle  knock.  The  hour  had  come.  lie 
followed  the  landlady  into  her  miniature  dining-room 
— the  table  was  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  what  he 
saw  beside  it  almost  took  away  his  breath.  He  stood 
with  parted  lips,  watching  what  the  first  moment  he 
thought  must  be  a  dream — an  apparition  or  some  un 
canny  procedure  in  the  psychic  world. 

"Ethel!"  he  exclaimed,  when  he  found  his  voice. 
Ethel  Ainsworth,  as  daintily  dressed  as  a  sweet  girl 
graduate,  stood  under  the  glow  of  the  hanging  lamp. 
Her  face  was  suffused  with  joy — her  eyes  were  filled 
with  the  laughter  of  the  heart. 

' '  Comrade, ' '  she  said,  as  she  advanced  to  meet  him. 

He  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his,  and  as  they  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes  and  read  there  the  secret  of  the 
ages,  there  ensued  a  struggle  that  for  the  moment  was 
freighted  with  more  poignant  agony  than  at  least  one 
there  had  ever  known.  Will  power  was  tested  to  the 
breaking  point.  These  two  souls  stood  on  the  edge  of  a 


'LIJAH  FINDS  A  CAVE  OF  ADULLAM       201 

volcano.  They  held,  as  Moses  did,  the  tables  of  the 
Law  in  their  hands — each  of  them  in  imminent  danger 
of  dashing  them  to  the  ground.  The  struggle  \vas  short 
lived — he  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  gently  kissed 
it,  and  as  she  withdrew  it,  two  scalding  tears  fell  on  it. 
She  stepped  back  and  kissed  his  tears  from  her  hand, 
saying  with  more  composure  than  her  companion  could 
command:  "It's  a  great  big  world,  Stephen,  and  we 
are  its  builders,  are  we  not?" 

"I  understand,"  he  said,  "and  we  must  build  in  the 
light  of  day." 

Another  gentle  knock.  "My  other  guest,"  she  said, 
as  she  arose  to  greet  him. 

"Philip!"  gasped  Ruden— "well,  who  next,  Ethel?" 

After  greeting  Miss  Ainsworth,  Philip  Bauerman 
came  over  to  Ruden.  The  men  kissed  each  other  and 
were  speechless. 

As  the  three  sat  around  the  table,  they  were  reminis 
cent — the  old  clays  at  New  Oxford  crowded  in  upon 
them.  Philip  was  wasted  to  a  shadow  of  himself.  He 
looked  as  if  he  was  just  recovering  from  a  long  illness. 
They  ate  little,  but  talked  much.  Ethel  told  her  story 
first.  She  had  secured  an  appointment  in  the  Depart 
ment  of  Justice  at  "Washington,  and  had  been  assigned 
to  the  South  to  investigate  peonage.  At  AVetumpka 
she  had  got  enough  evidence  to  indict  a  state,  but  she 
was  oblivious  of  the  presence  of  her  friend.  Her  first 
knowledge  of  his  whereabouts  was  when  she  heard  his 
voice  in  the  Delicatessen  store. 

Ruden 's  story  came  second.  The  other  two  were  in 
tears  most  of  the  time  it  took  to  tell  it. 

Miss  Ainsworth  helped  him  to  avoid  the  recital  of  the 
most  painful  experience  at  AVetumpka. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  know  all  about  Madeline's  visit 


202  THE  MAGYAR 

and  how  it  ended,  but  Philip  is  not  interested  in  that 
and  we  will  not  discuss  it." 

"It's  your  turn,  Philip,"  Ruden  said,  as  he  put  his 
arm  around  the  boy's  shoulder. 

"Better  cut  mine  out,"  was  the  slow,  deliberate  an 
swer.  "You  do  not  know  me,  Mr.  Ruden, — I  am  not 
the  man  you  knew  a  year  ago." 

"What  has  happened,  Philip?" 

"Have  you  heard  anything  about  my  sister  since  you 
left  New  Oxford  ? ' ' 

"I  haven't  heard  a  word  about  anyone  since  I  left," 
Ruden  answered. 

"Well,  young  Oglethorpe  ruined  Celia — my  sister. 
He  met  her  in  a  candy  store  where  she  was  cashier — 
when  her  baby  came — she  asked  him  to  give  the  child 
his  name — she  promised  to  aid  him  to  get  a  divorce  later, 
but  he  refused.  She  became  desperate  and  determined 
to  end  her  life. 

"At  a  final  interview  he  said  he  would  die  with  her. 
lie  took  her  to  Brantwood  Point  House,  and  the  mo 
ment  she  swallowed  her  potion  the  ber.st  got  out,  and 
that  very  night  attended  a  ball  and  danced  until  the 
early  hours  of  the  morning.  Celia  was  saved.  We  sent 
a.  lawyer  after  him  and  he  had  left -the  University.  Ho 
does  not  know  that  Celia  is  my  sister.  I  wrote  him  a 
pathetic  letter  asking  him  for  a  job  as  tutor,  promising 
him  his  diploma  at  the  Easter  examination.  He  knew  I 
gave  up  my  course  through  illness.  Tie  took  the  bait  and 
I  am  on  my  way  to  Wetumpka.  I  am  hate  turned  to 
flesh.  I  am  revenge  incarnated.  If  the  beast  has  a 
soul  I  shall  pierce  it  with  a  red  hot  shaft.  If  he  hasn't 
I  shall  make  his  carcass  cry  for  mercy.  My  meat  and 
my  drink  will  be  to  watch  him — study  him.  know  him.  I 
shall  search  for  his  soul  first.  If  I  don't  find  it,  I  shall 


'LIJAH  FINDS  A  CAVE  OF  ADULLAM      203 

inflict  upon  him  the  punishment  of  Abelard!  If  he  has 
a  soul,  I  shall  humiliate  him  with  the  humiliation  of 
Arthur  Dimsdale  ! ' ' 

Perspiration  rolled  oil  the  student's  face  as  he  spoke. 
It  was  evident  he  was  weak  and  in  no  physical  condi 
tion  to  enter  such  a  course. 

Philip's  friends  went  over  the  situation  with  him. 
The}'  pointed  out  the  futility  of  such  a  course — and 
tried  to  dissuade  him,  but  it  was  entirely  useless,  he 
was  obdurate. 

"When  a  man  or  woman  who  has  had  a  sister  ruined 
comes  to  me,  I  will  listen — not  until  then,"  he  said.  It 
was  a  pitiful  sight  to  see  that  fine  scholarly  face  so 
pinched  with  hate.  Ruden  said  something  about  the 
fate  that  overtakes  such  men  as  Oglethorpe.  "Yes," 
that's  true,"  Philip  said,  "I  thoroughly  agree  with  you, 
but  I  consider  myself  the  fate  of  God — the  agent  of 
God  to  overtake  him." 

They  changed  the  subject.  Miss  Ainsworth  told  how 
she  had  secured  an  indictment  of  the  planter  for  viola 
tion  of  the  anti-peonage  laws.  "His  friends,"  she  said, 
"have  persuaded  him  to  ask  for  a  speedy  trial  and  with 
in  a  few  days  the  jury  will  be  empaneled  and  the  trial 
begun." 

"And  when  the  trial  is  over,"  Ruden  said,  "our  trial 
will  begin." 

Ethel  was  silent  for  a  minute.  "And  a  crowd  of  wit 
nesses  shall  bear  testimony,"  she  said  calmly,  "and  wre 
ourselves  shall  deliver  judgment." 

Philip  Bauerman  occupied  Ruden 's  room  that  night, 
and  Ruden  betook  himself  to  the  "Cave,"  as  they  after 
wards  called  the  Delicatessen  store. 

Three  days  later  a  jury  was  empaneled  in  the  Fed 
eral  Court  of  the  Southern  District  of  Alabama  to  try 


204  THE  MAGYAR 

Llwellyn  Oglethorpe  and  Joshua  Iluggins  for  violating 
the  Federal  laws  against  peonage.  United  States  Dis 
trict  Attorney  Ferdinand  Kubberly  represented  the 
Government.  lie  was  assisted  by  Attorney  Ethel  Ains- 
worth  and  George  Eussell  of  the  Department  of  Justice. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

THE    REVENGE    OP    "LONE    STAR" 

THE  court  was  crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity.  The 
interest  was  national.  Newspaper  men  from  all  parts 
of  the  country  were  present.  The  word  "peonage"  was 
new — quite  new.  It  came  over  the  border  from  Mexico 
— found  its  way  into  the  Federal  statutes  in  the  sixties 
and  remained  hidden  until  Ferdinand  Kubberly  discov 
ered  and  added  it  to  the  vocabulary  of  a  phase  of  feud 
alism  we  imagined  had  passed  away. 

The  spectators  were  men — mostly  business  men,  not 
a  single  juror  was  challenged  by  the  defense  and  very 
few  by  the  Government.  There  was  an  air  of  supreme 
confidence  in  the  camp  of  the  Oglethorpe  array  of  talent. 
It  was  the  work  of  a  few  minutes  to  empanel  a  jury. 
It  was  addressed  by  the  lawyers  and  the  Judge  and  the 
twelve  men  "good  and  true"  sat  back  in  the  seats  as 
complacently  as  if  they  were  a  dining  section  of  a  presi 
dential  tour. 

The  presence  of  a  woman  in  the  Federal  Court  prac 
ticing  as  a  member  of  the  staff  of  the  United  States  At 
torney  General  caused,  at  first,  laughter,  then  surprise, 
and  later  ridicule  of  a  low  order.  Miss  Ainsworth  out 
lined  the  case  for  the  Government.  Mr.  Blount,  a  bril 
liant  criminal  lawyer  of  Baltimore,  spoke  for  the  de 
fense.  All  these  preliminaries  were  brevity  itself. 

The  first  witness  called  was  William  Langford,  "Big 
Bill,"  the  ten-year  contract  man.  The  contract  was 
marked  as  "Exhibit  A."  A  legal  battle  waged  for 
hours  over  its  admission. 

205 


206  TUP]  MAGYAR 

"This  contract,  your  Honor,"  said  the  leading  lawyer 
for  the  defense,  "could  only  be  made  with  a  man  who 
possessed  less  intelligence  than  a  horse — it  is  an  alto 
gether  unique  and  exceptional  document.  The  party  of 
the  second  part  has  put  his  cross  at  the  bottom,  but  the 
•witness  on  the  stand  is  utterly  unable  to  identify  it. 
Furthermore,  its  admission  will  be  an  injustice  to  the 
entire  South." 

At  this  point  the  Government  called  Ethel  Ainsworth 
to  the  stand. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  this  contract  before,  Miss  Ains 
worth?" 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

"In  the  possession  of  the  previous  witness — I  have  a 
photograph  of  it." 

"Have  you  it  here?" 

An  8x10  photograph  of  the  contract  was  put  in  evi 
dence. 

LABOR   CONTRACT. 

"This  contract  and  agreement  for  labor  on  the  farm  made  and 
entered  into  this  day  between  Lhvellyn  Ogletliorpe,  landlord, 
party  of  the  first  part,  and  William  Langford,  laborer,  party  of 
the  second  part — witnesseth  : 

"That  I,  William  Langford,  laborer,  of  the  second  part,  do 
hereby  bind  myself  over  and  hire  myself  to  Lhvellyn  Oglethorpe 
to  do  and  perform  general  farm  work  under  the  supervision  of 
s;iid  Lhvellyn  Oglethorpe  or  his  agents,  for  the  period  of  t?n 
years,  commencing  Jan.  1,  1900,  and  ending  Dec.  31st,  1!)10,  and 
as  pay  for  the  said  services  I  am  to  receive  the  sum  of  ten  dol 
lars  per  month,  together  with  my  board  and  lodging,  which 
wages,  less — or  any  advances  made  to  me  from  time  to  time, 
and  lost  time  at  $1  per  day,  is  to  be  paid  to  me  at  the  expira 
tion  of  the  above  time.  I  agree  at  all  times  to  be  subject  to 
the  orders  or  commands  of  said  Lhvellyn  Oglethorpe,  perform 
all  work  required  of  me  by  Lhvellyn  Oglethorpe,  or  his  agents 


THE  REVENGE  OF  "LONE  STAR"    207 

shall  have  the  right  to  use  such  force  as  he  or  his  agents  may 
deem  necessary  to  require  me  to  remain  on  liis  farm  and  per 
form  good  and  satisfactory  services.  He  shall  have  the  right  to 
lock  me  up  for  safe  keeping,  work  me  under  the  rules  and  regu 
lations  of  his  farm,  and  if  1  .should  leave  his  farm  or  run  away 
he  shall  have  the  right  to  offer  and  pay  a  reward  not  exceeding 
$25  for  my  capture  and  return,  together  with  the  expense  of  the 
same,  which  amount,  so  advanced,  together  with  my  other  in 
debtedness  I  may  owe  him  at  the  expiration  of  above  time;  I 
agree  to  work  under  all  rules  and  regulations  of  this  contract  at 
the  same  wages  as  above  Jan.  1,  IDOlJ — and  ending  Dec.  ol,  191G. 
The  said  Llwellyn  Oglethorpe  shall  have  the  right  to  transfer 
his  interest  in  this  contract  to  any  other  party,  and  T  agree  to 
continue  work  for  said  assignee  same  as  for  the  original  party 
of  the  first  part. 

"I,  Llwellyn  Oglethorpe,  party  of  the  first  part,  hereby  agree 
and  hire  the  said  William  Langford  for  the  above  time  and  pay 
wages  as  above  set  forth,  and  otherwise  fill  my  part  of  the  above 
agreement. 

''Witness  our  hands  and  seals  this  first  day  of  January,    1906. 

" Seal. 

" Seal. 

"  Witness 


"While  we  are  in  the  art  -gallery,  we  might  as  well 
exhibit  the  remainder  of  our  pictures,"  said  the  Dis 
trict  Attorney.  "The  previous  witness  has  testified  to 
whippings  of  various  sorts — you  witnessed  some  of  these 
occurrences,  did  you  not?" 

Here  a  dozen  photographs  were  exhibited,  showing  the 
various  methods  of  flogging  at  the  Oglethorpc  .stockade. 
They  were  handed  to  the  jury.  "Big  Bill"  was  .shown 
strapped  to  a  log,  with  Iluggins  wielding  the  shingle 
on  his  bare  feet.  "Big  Bill's"  wife  was  shown  strung 
up  by  her  thumbs  to  a  ring  in  the  wall.  It  wr,s  a  ghastly 
picture  and  created  a  sensation  of  disgust  and  pity. 

The  cross-examination  was  fierce  and  unsparing.     The 


208  THE  MAGYAR 

defense  spent  five  hours  in  bringing  out  the  life  of  the 
witness. 

"In  your  work  of  deception  and  hypocrisy,  Miss 
Ainsworth,"  said  Blount,  "whom  did  you  have  in  mind 
as  a  model— history  records  some  brilliant  examples — 
such  as  Judas  Iscariot — Benedict  Arnold  and  a  lot  of 
such  'Dr.  JekylJ^and  Mr.  Hyde'  characters?" 

"My  model,"  said  Miss  Ainsworth,  in  a  clear  voice, 
"was  Xathan  Hale,  Mr.  Blount — you  may  have  heard 
of  him." 

' '  I  am  not  on  the  witness  stand ! "  he  retorted  sharply. 
Before  proceeding  further  he  consulted  his  partners- 
there  was  a  moment  of  intense  silence  as  the  tall,  lean, 
clean-shaven  man  advanced  a  few  steps  toward  the  wit 
ness.  His  lips  were  compressed — he  looked  steadily  at 
her  with  blazing  eyes. 

"You  have  testified  here,"  he  said  slowly,  "as  to  the 
immoral  use  of  black  female  servants  and  convicts — do 
you  testify  from  hearsay  or  from  knowledge  of  the 
"facts?" 

"From  knowledge  of  the  facts." 

"You  actually  know,  then,  by  first  hand  knowledge, 
of  such  occurrences?" 

"Not  being  the  victim  myself,  Mr.  Blount,  it  would 
necessarily  have  to  be  second  hand." 

"Then  it's  hearsay?" 

"If—" 

"No  'ifs'  or  'buts, '  please;  answer  my  question  Yes 
or  No." 

"If  -    "  she  continued,  but  he  stopped  her. 

"Your  Honor,"  said  Mr.  Blount,  "I  demand  that  the 
witness  answer  my  question." 

"I  shall  permit  the  witness  to  answer  your  question 
in  her  own  language,"  said  the  Judge. 


THE  REVENGE  OF  "LONE  STAR"    209 

"If,"  continued  Miss  Ainsworth,  "a  confession  by 
the  men  who  committed  the  crimes  is  hearsay,  then  I 
answer  your  question  in  the  affirmative." 

"Were  these  alleged  confessions  written?" 

"No,  they  were  oral." 

"Then  we  have  only  your  word  for  it?" 

"I  anticipated  the  difficulty  of  your  question,  so  made 
provision  for  it."  At  a  signal  from  the  witness,  a 
square  box  was  laid  on  a  table  in  front  of  the  jury. 
Miss  Ainsworth  left  the  witness  stand  and  personally 
supervised  the  opening  of  it. 

"In  the  early  part  of  my  investigation,"  she  said,  as 
she  displayed  a  phonograph,  "I  took  this  into  the  forest. 
I  made  myself  so  familiar  with  the  people  I  wanted, 
that  I  made  them,  unknown  to  themselves,  talk  for  pub 
lication." 

"AVhile  Miss  Ainsworth  adjusts  her  machine  we  will 
call  Joshua  Iluggins  to  the  stand,"  said  the  District 
Attorney. 

Iluggins  had  a  squeaky  voice  and  the  Government's 
object,  in  calling  him  at  this  juncture  was  to  put  it  on 
exhibition — to  make  an  "exhibit"  of  it.  lie  was  led 
into  a  chatty  reminiscence  for  this  purpose.  Then  he 
was  taken  from  the  stand  and  Miss  Ainsworth  resumed. 
An  expert  was  on  hand  to  explain  to  the  jury  the  mech 
anism  of  the  machine.  They  were  asked  to  compare 
the  voice  of  Iluggins,  as  they  heard  it  on  the  witness 
stand,  with  the  voice  in  the  machine.  Then  the  Ilug 
gins  cylinder  was  adjusted  and  the  squeaky  voice  of  the 
foreman  was  reproduced  in  a  conversation  that  would 
not  be  permitted  to  go  through  the  mails. 

The  jury  was  amazed — they  laughed  outright  at  the 
trick.  Iluggins  glared  at  the  machine,  as  if  it  were  a 
negro, -disputing  the  prerogative  of  his  whip!  His  jaw 


210  THE  MAGYAR 

hung  loose  and  his  little  rat  eyes  were  bulging  out  of 
their  sockets. 

The  labor  contract  in  dispute  was  not  admitted  until 
William  Harding,  the  head  gardener,  identified  it  as  a 
document  he  had  explained  to  "Big  Bill."  Joe  Belden, 
the  other  ten-year  contract  man,  had  a  similar  contract, 
but  the  Government  deemed  the  admission  of  one  enough. 

The  trial  dragged  on  for  a  week — each  side  took  a  day 
to  sum  up.  Among  the  most  interested  attendants  at 
the  trial  was  "Lone  Star."  He  listened  to  every  wit 
ness — he  watched  every  move.  He  looked  nervous  and 
worried.  Ruden  took  him  for  a  walk  at  recess  one  day, 
but  scarcely  a  word  could  be  gotten  out  of  him. 

Miss  Ainsworth  summed  up  for  the  Government : 

"Peonage,  gentlemen,  is  the  compulsory  holding  to 
labor  of  one  man  by  another,  for  the  sake  of  having  him 
work  out  a  debt.  The  labor  contract  signed  and  sealed 
by  Llwellyn  Oglethorpe  as  party  of  the  first  part  is  not 
an  evidence  of  peonage,  but  of  slavery.  A  man  cannot 
.sell  himself  in  the  United  States  either  as  a  peon  or  as 
a  slave.  You  have  the  evidence  before  you  of  how  these 
men  were  chased  with  bloodhounds,  beaten  when  caught 
and  brought  back.  The  debt  charged  was  a  fiction, 
but  they  were  put  in  irons  to  work  it  out.  Their  wives 
were  hunted  down  and  returned.  They  were  strung  up 
by  the  thumbs — they  were  stripped  and  flogged.  They 
wrere  used  for  immoral  purposes.  In  this  case  the  peons 
are  black  men,  but  all  over  the  South  tens  of  thousands 
of  white  men  are  held  in  peonage,  flogged  and  robbed 
by  the  pagan  industrial  usages  of  a  backward  medieval 
section  of  the  United  States. 

"It  is  mooted  that  it  is  impossible  to  get  a  Southern 
jury  to  convict  the  rich  violators  of  the  Federal  Statute 
on  Peonage,  but  I  hope  you  gentlemen  will  remember 


THE  REVENGE  OF  "LONE  STAR"    211 

that  eighty  million  people  are  watching  you  to-day  and 
that  all  we  ask  of  you  is  to  bring  in  a  verdict  in  accord 
ance  with  the  evidence." 

Judge  Swayne  reviewed  the  evidence  and  charged  the 
jury.  He  divested  the  case  of  all  sentiment  and  reduced 
it  to  a  question  of  law  and  evidence.  No  one  who  heard 
the  charge  doubted  for  a  moment  what  the  Judge  in 
tended  to  convey.  It  was  virtually  an  order  to  bring  in 
a  verdict  of  guilty.  The  hope  of  the  accused  lay  in  the 
jury  and  there  were  those  who  believed  that  that  hope 
had  been  doctored.  The  accused  laughed  and  chatted 
with  his  counsel. 

The  jury  were  out  fifteen  minutes.  Then  they  filed 
back,  were  counted,  and  amid  a  breathless  silence,  the 
foreman  arose  and  said,  "We,  the  jury,  find  the  pris 
oner  not  guilty." 

The  last  syllable  had  scarcely  died  away  when  a  harsh 
voice  broke  the  spell  of  silent  awe.  It  was  a  shout  that 
struck  terror  to  the  hearts  of  men.  "God!"  screamed 
"Lone  Star,"  who  stood  three  yards  from  Oglethorpe, 
"Ye've  missed  yer  chance  an'  the  law  is  found  want- 
in.'  :  There  was  a  flash  of  fire,  a  loud  report,  and 
Llwellyn  Oglethorpe  dropped  dead  at  his  lawyer's  feet! 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  BLINKING  BEAST 

TEN  days  after  the  tragic  ending  of  the  trial  Stephen 
Ruden  knocked  at  the  door  of  a  little  white  cottage  on 
the  outskirts  of  Arden — a  mill  village  in  the  great  steel 
center  of  Southern  Alabama. 

A  young  mulatto  woman  opened  the  door. 

"I  was  told  to  ask  for  'Nell,'  "  he  said.  She  smiled 
and  invited  him  inside.  "I  am  'Nell,'  "  she  said,  when 
he  had  seated  himself. 

He  judged  her  to  be  about  thirty  years  of  age.  She 
was  almost  white,  with  straight  black  hair — a  face  that 
he  thought  the  most  beautiful  he  had  ever  seen,  and  a 
form  as  perfect  as  the  Venus  do  Milo. 

The  cottage  was  scrupulously  clean  and  neat.  Old- 
fashioned  hand-made  rag  carpets  covered  the  floor — a 
log  fire  blazed  on  the  wide  open  hearth.  One  side  of 
the  larger  of  the  two  rooms  was  covered  from  floor  to 
ceiling  with  books.  Photographs  of  the  old  masters 
adorned  the  walls  and  over  the  mantelpiece  hung  a 
landscape  by  a  modern  artist. 

The  room  had  a  literary  atmosphere,  and  he  discov 
ered  later  that  it  had  a  literary  occupant.  Nell  Pal 
mer  had  earned  her  living  by  writing  from  the  year  she 
graduated  from  Fisk  University. 

"I  brought  you  a  message  from  Jim,  Miss  Palmer," 
Ruden  said,  by  way  of  introduction. 

"\Yhere  did  you  see  him,  and  how  is  he?"  she  asked 
anxiously. 

212 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  BLINKING  BEAST      213 

"I'm  sorry  to  tell  you  that  he  is  dead." 

A  look  of  pain  overspread  her  beautiful  features. 

"You  knew  him,  then?" 

"Yes,  and  he  told  me  a  little  of  his  romance — not 
much." 

She  sighed,  and  muttered  "Poor  Jim." 

Ruden  told  her  of  "Kentuck's"  last  message,  and  as 
he  went  over  the  details,  she  wept  quietly — merely  say 
ing  occasionally,  "Poor  Jim,  Poor  Jim!" 

"Jim  and  I  were  brought  up  together — wre  were  in 
separable  when  children  and  as  boy  and  girl.  My  dear 
old  mother  washed  for  a  living  and  out  of  her  hard- 
earned  wages  saved  enough  to  put  me  through  college. 
Jim  had  to  work  in  that  mill  over  the  way  when  he  was 
eight  years  of  age. 

;'The  only  thing  he  ever  learned  was  the  violin.  We 
saw  much  of  each  other  and  braved  the  scorn  of  two 
races  for  it.  Then  the  great  question  came,  and  I  had 
to  decide  for  both.  One  cannot  fight  against  the  stars, 
lie  was  not  angry — he  came  here  one  night,  and  over 
there,  by  the  window,  he  played  his  last  tune  for  me. 
His  violin  seemed  human  that  night, — it  sang — then  it 
prayed — then  it  wept.  Jim  usually  put  it  back  in  the 
case,  but  that  night  he  took  it  away  under  his  arm,  and 
I  never  saw  them  again." 

Ruden  went  over  again — this  time  a  little  more  ten 
derly — the  broken  tale  that  "Kentuck"  told  him  on  his 
death-bed. 

She  hung  eagerly  on  every  word.  They  talked  for 
several  hours.  Ruden  was  charmed  by  this  unusual 
personality,  and  was  loath  to  leave.  He  had  intended  to 
take  a  train  in  the  late  afternoon,  but  he  changed  his 
mind. 

"Do  you  know  where  I  can  get  a  lodging  in  the  vil- 


214  THE  MAGYAR 

lage,  Miss  Palmer?  I  want  to  get  an  accurate  idea  of  a 
cotton  mill  before  I  go  back  North  again." 

"I'm  afraid  you  will  have  to  go  to  town — there  isn't 
even  a  lodging  house  here." 

"You  have  an  exaggerated  idea  of  my  needs,"  he 
said.  "A  cot  in  a  corner— anywhere — in  a  laborer's 
cottage  will  do  me." 

"I  have  one  white  friend — intimate  friend — in  the 
village — but  he  lives  alone,  does  his  own  work.  He  is 
the  finest  character  we  have  here.  He  has  a  cot  which 
he  keeps  for  tramps  and  nondescript  wayfarers."  She 
was  smiling  as  she  spoke,  and  her  smile  was  like  sun 
shine  after  rain,  "He  would  be  glad  to  have  you,  I  am 
sure. ' ' 

""Would  it  be  too  much  to  ask  you  to  take  me  to  him?" 

"Not  too  much  for  me — but  for  the  village — it  would 
take  a  long  time  to  get  over  it.  I  will  make  you  a  dia 
gram  and  it  will  guide  you  there." 

She  took  a  small  pad  of  paper  and  made  a  diagram  of 
the  village. 

"That's  easy,"  he  said,  as  he  followed  her  pencil. 

"And  the  name  of  the  old  man?" 

"Is  Zapolya — the  villagers  call  him   'Zap'." 

"What  shall  I  call  him?" 

"A  long  time  ago  I  named  him  'Baron' — there  is 
noble  blood  in  him  if  one  could  get  back  far  enough  to 
find  it." 

They  went  over  the  diagram  again.  "It's  simple," 
she  said.  "Follow  'Shotgun  Row'  to  the  end— then 
turn  to  your  right  and  the  first  cottage  you  come  to  is 
the  'Baron's.'  " 

"May  I  call  again  before  I  leave?" 

"I  will  be  delighted  to  have  you — any  time.  By-the- 
way,"  she  said  meditatively,  "can  you  take  tea  or — 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  BLINKING  BEAST      215 

can  you  meet  a  friend  of  mine  to-morrow  afternoon?" 

"I  will  take  tea  with  you  and  your  friend  if  I  may," 
he  replied. 

"Very  well,  I  shall  expect  you  at  four." 

With  the  diagram  in  his  hand  and  his  bundle  under 
his  arm,  he  walked  slowly  away,  muttering  to  himself— 
"Poor  'Kentuck' — I  knew  there  was  something  big  in 
your  soul." 

He  did  not  go  directly  to  his  prospective  lodging.  He 
wandered  about  the  queer  deserted  village, — for  the  in 
habitants  were  still  in  the  mill. 

The  mill  village  is  laid  out  like  a  checker-board  on  a 
surface  of  slag,  cinders  and  ashes.  There  are  divi 
sions,  but  no  streets;  there  are  ditches,  but  no  drains. 
There  are  some  young  trees  struggling  for  their  lives, 
but  grass  grows  poorly  on  clinkers. 

The  huts  are  square — of  the  same  size  and  pattern, 
and  Ruden,  as  he  walked  past  them,  could  not  tell  the 
back  from  the  front.  Every  back  door  had  four  dumps, 
— wood,  ashes,  coal  and  closet. 

Every  back  door  was  just  five  yards  from  somebody 
else's  front  door. 

He  got  tired  stepping  over  the  deep  ditches. 

An  old  man  answered  Ruden 's  knock.  He  was  tall 
and  somewhat  bent.  A  mass  of  snow  white  hair  was 
brushed  over  on  one  side  of  his  fine,  massive  head.  A 
silken  white  beard  almost  reached  his  waist. 

"Miss  Palmer  sent  me,"  was  Ruden 's  simple  intro 
duction. 

"Nell?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"Yes." 

"Come  in." 

The  hut  was  a  single  room — neat — for  a  man's  place. 
A  place  for  everything  and  everything  in  its  place.  On 


216  THE  MAGYAR 

a  bare  pine  table  sat  the  lamp — already  lit — near  a  lit 
tle  stove  was  what  was  evidently  the  bed  of  the  old  man 
— near  the  back  window  was  what  Ruden  understood  at 
a  glance  to  be  the  cot  for  wayfarers  like  himself. 

"The  Baron,"  as  Nell  called  him,  looked  like  a  patri 
arch — the  face  reminded  his  visitor  of  Michael  Angelo's 
Moses. 

"You  are  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  I  suppose,"  he 
said,  as  they  seated  themselves. 

"Yes— and  you?" 

"I've  been  around  these  parts  for  nearly  forty 
years." 

There  was  a  slight  foreign  accent  and  an  awkward 
handling  of  English  that  denoted  at  once  a  foreign 
origin. 

They  sat,  one  at  each  end  of  the  table,  looking  into 
each  other's  faces,  asking  questions,  as  though  there  was 
a  limited  time  in  which  to  ask  them. 

The  old  man  was  the  more  aggressive.  In  half  an 
hour  he  had  traveled  with  Ruden  over  the  rough  expe 
riences  of  the  past  year. 

Little  of  his  own  past  was  touched  upon,  however. 
"When  Ruden  showed  his  eagerness  to  travel  with  him 
along  the  same  pathways,  he  sidetracked  the  subject  by 
starting  to  cook  supper.  After  supper,  he  gave  his 
guest  a  resume  of  the  village — its  life  and  labor.  So 
accurate,  so  vivid  and  photographic  was  the  description 
that  Ruden  longed  for  the  time  when  he  could  see  and 
hear  for  himself. 

"I  turn  in  rather  early,  stranger,"  the  old  man  said, 
"but  if  you  want  to  sit  up  and  read,  make  yourself  at 
home." 

He  took  a  book  from  a  shelf — adjusted  his  spectacles 
and  read  for  five  minutes — he  closed  it  and  was  silent 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  BLINKING  BEAST      217 

for  awhile.  Ruden  thought  it  was  a  Bible  and  in 
quired. 

''Yes,"  the  old  man  said,  "it's  a  way  I  have  of  keep 
ing  fresh  in  my  mind  my  native  language." 

Ruden  reached  over  and  took  the  book. 

"It's  Hungarian,"  he  said. 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  the  host,  as  he  looked 
over  his  glasses  at  his  guest. 

"I  guessed  at  it — but  I  myself  am  Hungarian." 

The  old  man  looked  surprised. 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  the  country?"  he  in 
quired. 

"About  as  long  as  you  have,  I  guess." 

"H'm, "  the  old  man  grunted,  "you've  made  better 
use  of  your  time." 

Long  after  his  host  had  gone  to  sleep  Ruden  sat  at  the 
table  handling  the  quaint  old  Bible.  It  had  hand- 
wrought  iron  clasps — on  the  fly  leaf  there  was  a  gene 
alogy  with  records  of  births,  deaths  and  marriages. 
There  were  clippings  from  Hungarian  papers  and  mar 
ginal  notes  in  Latin  and  Greek.  On  the  table  sat  a 
framed  daguerreotype  of  a  young  woman  which  he  sup 
posed  might  be  the  old  man's  wife. 

"AVhat  an  odd  place  for  such  a  man  to  live,"  he  mut 
tered.  As  he  sat  in  deep  meditation,  with  the  daguer- 
reotpye  in  his  hand,  a  strange  sensation  overcame  him. 
It  seemed  like  a  visit  back — back  millenniums — to  the 
scenes  of  a  former  incarnation.  His  sight  grew  dim,  a 
numbness  was  slowly  creeping  over  his  body.  When  he 
extinguished  the  light  he  saw  a  stream  of  moonlight 
shoot  in  a  square  shaft  across  the  hut. 

It  lit  up  with  a  silvery  glow  the  face  that  looked  like 
an  old  Norse  King.  He  could  not  sleep.  His  whole 
life  passed  in  review.  It  passed  in  a  series  of  tableaux. 


218  THE  MAGYAR 

He  was  aroused  by  the  wild  screams  of  a  whistle.  It 
was  half-past  three.  He  dressed  and  went  out  among 
the  huts.  As  he  passed  "Shotgun  Row"  a  light  at 
tracted  him.  He  stood  for  a  minute — there  were  no 
blinds— no  curtains.  A  boy's  head,  that  loomed  like  a 
feather  duster,  was  being  shaken.  It  was  shaken  by  his 
father,  perhaps.  He  watched.  The  head  wobbled  from 
side  to  side — a  little  girl  of  ten  appeared — she  held  him 
upright — then  shook  him  vigorously.  A  mother  was  at 
the  stove.  Five  minutes  later  they  sat  down  to  break 
fast.  All  unwashed — uncombed. 

Ruden  crept  softly  to  the  door.  There  wasn't  a 
sound.  Two  boys  appeared  at  the  door.  It  was  dark. 
They  jumped  over  the  deep  ditch  and  went  down  hand 
in  hand  toward  the  main  road.  The  big  gray  mill 
looked  like  a  blinking  beast  watching  for  its  prey.  Tiny 
threads  of  light  shot  from  a  hundred  blazing  eyes  and 
out  of  the  tall  neck  there  vomited  volumes  of  hot  black 
breath  that  blotted  out  the  stars. 

Over  the  ash  piles — ditches  and  gutterways — winding 
in  and  out  among  and  across  lots,  moved  the  ragged  un 
washed  stream  of  human  child  life  toward  the  gray 
Bastile  of  Arden.  He  watched  the  little  feather  duster 
heads  dart  past  the  windows.  Then  lie  heard  a  dull 
muffled  roar  of  machinery  and  he  knew  that  the  battle 
of  endurance  was  on ! 

He  returned  to  the  hut  and  crept  into  bed  again.  At 
seven  o'clock  the  old  man  got  up  and  made  some  coffee. 

He  knew  Ruden  was  awake  and  offered  him  some. 

"You've  been  out  around  the  mill  already,  have  you 
not?" 

"Yes,  how  could  anyone  sleep  when  that  whistle 
blows?" 

"That  whistle  is  reformed — it  is  mild — two  years  ago 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  BLINKING  BEAST      219 

we  had  a  'wild  cat'  whistle,  but  that  was  abolished,  for 
the  people  of  Anniston,  five  miles  away,  held  a  mass 
meeting  and  had  it  replaced  by  the  one  you  heard  this 
morning. ' ' 

Ruden  laughed — "I  suppose  the  owners  never  heard 
either?"  he  ventured  to  say. 

"No,"  the  old  man  said,  as  he  reached  for  his  book, 
"the  whip  on  the  backs  of  these  children  is  held  in  the 
hand  of  a  Congregational  Deacon  who  lives  on  Com 
monwealth  Avenue  in  Boston." 

"I  thought  the  Governor  of  the  State  owned  it." 

"He  owns  some  of  the  stock — perhaps  a  fourth — 
another  fourth  was  held  by  Oglethorpe,  the  man  who 
was  shot  recently." 

"Oglethorpe?"  ejaculated  Ruden. 

"Why  are  you  surprised?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  his  widow." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  It  was  a  black  boy 
with  a  note  for  the  "Baron." 

"Nell  wants  me  to  go  with  you  to  meet  her  friend," 
the  old  man  said. 

"You'll  go,  won't  you?" 

He  did  not  answer,  and  the  question  was  not  repeated. 
Ruden  had  watched  his  host  carefully  as  he  performed 
his  morning  toilet.  He  wanted  to  be  as  little  trouble  as 
possible.  Daylight  came.  The  lamp  was  extinguished 
and  the  blinds  rolled  up.  As  Ruden  began  his  toilet 
the  old  man  bestirred  himself. 

"Don't  move,"  Ruden  said — "I  know  where  every 
thing  is.  I  watched  you  carefully." 

He  opened  the  door  to  dispose  of  the  dirty  water — 
as  he  did  so,  he  saw  something  on  the  floor.  "Wrhat's 
this,  Baron?"  he  asked.  The  old  man  was  there  in 
stantly. 


220  THE  MAGYAR 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  picked  it  up.  "That's  a 
little  bit  of  the  superstition  of  the  past — but  I  cling  to 
some  of  those  old  things."  It  was  a  bat — dried  and 
flattened,  it  had  been  nailed  to  the  inside  of  the  front 
door  for  years. 

The  ugly  thing  Avas  minutely  examined  at  the  win 
dow,  but  no  apparent  cause  could  be  found  for  its  failure 
any  longer  to  keep  out  the  evil  spirits. 

"I  had  a  strange  dream  last  night,"  the  host  said. 

"I  did,  too,"  Iluden  said,  "but  I  was  awake  when  I 
was  dreaming — 

The  old  man  continued,  as  if  he  hadn't  heard:  "I 
had  dismissed  it  from  my  mind,  until  my  bat  dropped 
— now  I  think  it  bodes  of  evil."  There  was  a  long 
silence — Iluden  made  several  attempts  to  draw  his  host 
out  of  it,  but  failed. 

"You  will  come  back  to-night?"  were  the  only  words 
he  heard  for  hours.  lie  took  the  trolley  to  Anniston, 
bought  a  camera  and  returned.  By  the  time  he  re 
turned  to  take  the  old  man  to  Nell's,  he  had  photo 
graphed  the  village  and  the  mill  children.  The  place 
fascinated  him.  There  were  churches — he  wondered 
what  the  preachers  did.  There  was  a  library — he  won 
dered  who  read  the  books. 

A  library  in  Arden  seemed  to  him  like  a  shoe  store 
for  the  distribution  of  free  shoes  to  feetless  people. 

At  half-past  three  he  returned  for  the  "Baron,"  and 
together  they  went  to  Nell's. 

"Heavens!"  exclaimed  Ruden,  as  Nell's  door  opened 
• — for  it  was  Nell's  friend  who  opened  it,  and  Nell's 
friend  was  none  other  than  A\7illiam,  the  gardener! 
The  men  gripped  each  other's  hands.  Nell  and  the 
"Baron"  looked  on  with  intense  interest. 

"Sit  down,  gentlemen,"  pleaded  the  gentle  voice  of 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  BLINKING  BEAST      221 

the  hostess,—' '  sit  down ;  you  can  settle  the  affairs  of 
the  universe  as  well  sitting  as  standing."  The  four  of 
them  gathered  around  the  open  log  fire  and  Nell  brought 
a  small  table,  laden  with  cups  and  saucers.  ''Go  on," 
she  said,  "don't  mind  me — I'll  supply  the  inner  circle 
while  you  talk  around  the  rim." 

The  conversation  was  so  engrossing  that  the  refresh 
ments  were  utterly  forgotten. 

"You  are  not  drinking  your  tea,  gentlemen,"  broke 
in  the  hostess,  "and  my  good  corn  pone  is  going  beg 
ging  ! ' ' 

They  were  all  silent,  but  they  drank  their  tea  and  ate 
Nell's  corn  pone,  watching  the  blazing  logs  on  the  open 
fireplace. 

Before  they  were  aware  of  it,  the  daylight  had  gone. 
Nell  lit  the  lamp  and  urged  them  to  remain  for  supper. 

There  was  a  conspiracy  to  get  the  old  man  to  talk. 
He  was  a  mystery  to  those  who  knew  him  best.  He 
smoked  a  long  clay  pipe,  and  every  few  minutes,  he 
would  knock  the  ashes  out  on  the  hearthstone  and  refill 
it.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  reminiscent,  and  they 
hesitated  to  disturb  him. 

"Baron,"  said  Nell,  "you  have  promised  many  a 
time  to  tell  me  of  your  early  experiences  here.  "Wil 
liam's  friend  is  one  of  us — he  has  gone  through  much 
for  our  cause — the  cause  of  the  people — you  will  not 
mind  him — he  may  tell  us  more  of  his  life  when  we 
hear  you." 

"I  don't  object,"  he  said,  as  he  again  knocked  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe.  "Something  attracts  me  to  this 
young  man — if  he  doesn't  mind  me  saying  so." 

"It's  mutual,  I  can  assure  you,"  Ruden  said. 

They  drew  their  chairs  closer  to  the  lamps.  Here 
were  four  unusual  personalities — each  with  a  life's  mis- 


222  THE  MAGYAR 

sion  unfulfilled — each  eager  for  fellowship — eager  to  be 
understood. 

"I  understand  you  are  a  writer,  sir,"  he  said  to 
Ruden. 

"I  have  just  broken  in." 

' '  Then  the  story  of  our  pilgrimage  may  come  in  handy 
sometime  when  you  have  a  novel  in  mind." 

"I  have  a  life  to  live — that's  a  greater  thing  than  to 
write  a  novel. ': 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

"THE  SNOW  CHILD" 

"A  PARTY  of  us — neighbors  in  Zeiden,"  he  began,  "got 
together  and  talked  of  emigration. 

"There  was  a  Professor  of  history — a  village  school 
master — several  skilled  mechanics  and  a  dozen  laborers. 
There  were  fourteen  women.  We  had  heard  great  sto 
ries  of  the  New  World.  It  was  verily  a  land  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey — so  we  saved  our  money  for  the  journey 
and  sailed,  toward  the  close  of  the  year  1866. 

"It  was  a  long,  tiresome  journey.  We  landed  at  Bos 
ton,  and  prepared  for  the  journey  South.  Florida  was 
our  destination.  The  first  town  we  arrived  at  outside 
of  Boston,  we  wrere  ordered  not  to  make  any  stop.  None 
of  us  could  speak  English.  The  Professor  spoke  Greek, 
Latin,  French  and  German,  but  not  a  word  of  English. 
We  were  laboring  under  great  difficulties  in  this  respect. 
We  had  underestimated  the  cost  of  the  trip,  too,  and 
found  ourselves  in  great  need  of  many  things  we  could 
not  provide  for  the  women  and  children.  We  were  soon 
made  aware  of  the  fact  that  word  wras  being  sent  from 
one  fown  to  another,  warning  the  inhabitants  of  our 
approach,  and  telling  them  we  were  persistent  beggars 
and  dangerous  characters.  Consequently  we  found  no 
consideration — no  mercy.  We  imagined  that  would 
only  be  true  of  Massachusetts.  We  had  a  map  and  were 
glad  when  we  got  out  of  that  State.  We  were  mistaken 
again.  We  were  pushed  out  of  the  first  Connecticut 
town  with  a  shotgun  at  our  elbows.  It  began  to  snow. 

223 


224  THE  MAGYAR 

The  notion  had  gotten  into  our  heads  that  there  was  no 
snow  here.  We  were  poorly  clad  for  such  cold  weather. 

"My  wife  and  I  had  been  married  about  a  year.  We 
hoped  to  be  in  our  dreamland  of  Florida  before  our  first 
child  was  born.  "We  were  doomed  to  disappointment. 
"When  we  arrived  at  a  village  called  Danielson,  in  Con 
necticut,  my  wife  knew  that  her  child  would  be  born  in 
a  few  hours.  Of  course  I  begged  hard  with  gestures 
and  exclamations  for  a  shed  or  barn  for  the  event,  but 
the  word  had  reached  Danielson,  and  we  were  pushed 
out.  The  first  select-man — with  a  gun  under  his  arm 
and  a  ferocious  dog — accompanied  us  to  the  outskirts. 
My  wife  was  in  great  pain.  I  explained  the  exigency— 
I  held  her  in  front  of  him — he  merely  pushed  his  to 
bacco  from  one  jaw  to  the  other.  There  wasn't  a  gun 
in  the  crowd.  I'd  surely  have  shot  him  if  there  had 
been.  Out  we  went — a  dull,  heavy-laden  group  of  the 
most  poverty  stricken  pilgrims  the  world  ever  saw. 

' '  It  was  snowing.  Two  feet  of  snow  lay  on  the  ground. 
We  climbed  over  an  American  (barbed  wire)  fence  and 
prepared  for  the  event.  We  made  a  bed  on  the  snow. 
We  men  formed  ourselves  into  a  sort  of  wall  to  keep 
the  wind  off.  It  ceased  snowing  and  became  bitterly 
cold.  There  wasn't  a  woman  who  even  knew  the  ele 
ments  of  nursing.  The  schoolmaster  acted  as  doctor 
and  nurse  too.  How  cold  and  pitiless  the  stars  looked 
that  night !  Then  there  was  a  cry — God !  how  my  heart 
jumped  to  my  mouth !  It  was  the  cry  of  our  first  born. 
Some  of  the  women  wrere  almost  paralyzed  with  fear. 
I  was  swearing — Ursula,  my  wife,  heard  me  swear,  and 
in  her  agony,  she  said,  'Emrich,  we  will  trust  God- 
do  you  hear,  dear?  We  will  trust  God.'  Inwardly  I 
cursed  God — I  cursed  the  disciples  of  a  stable-born  God, 
who  would  have  given  shelter  to  a  cow,  but  treated  Ur- 


"THE  SNOW  CHILD"  225 

sula  like  a  beast  of  the  forest.  I  became  so  bitter,  so 
hateful — but  what  could  I  do  against  a  whole  civiliza 
tion  ?  In  our  town,  we  would  have  vied  with  each 
other  in  our  effort  to  help.  A  nameless  dread  took  pos 
session  of  us  all — all  save  Ursula !  We  stole  hay  and 
broke  up  a  fence,  made  a  fire,  and  kept  her  warm.  We 
carried  Ursula  by  turns  to  the  next  big  city,  where  peo 
ple  were  a  little  more  human.  Our  group  called  the 
babe  "the  snow  child";  but  Ursula  had  him  christened 
after  the  patron  saint  of  our  nation,  St.  Stephen ! 

"At  New  Oxford  our  party  divided — Ursula  and  I 
came  to  Georgia  and  later  to  Alabama.  While  in  At 
lanta  we  had  two  other  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl.  Ur 
sula  died,  and  I  did  the  best  I  could  to  earn  a  living 
and  look  after  the  children.  A  planter  took  advantage 
of  me  in  a  labor  contract  and  when  I  rebelled,  I  was 
put  in  jail  and  my  children  given  away.  I  never  got  a 
trace  of  any  of  them  after  that. 

"I  studied  the  English  language.  I  searched  the  in 
stitutions  of  the  South.  I  traveled  ten  States.  I  vis 
ited  everybody  I  could  learn  of,  who  had  adopted  chil 
dren.  I  have  advertised  in  the  Hungarian  papers  in 
this  country  since  they  were  first  published.  When  all 
these  failed  I  have  gone  to  clairvoyants  and  mediums. 
When  they  failed  I  plead  with  God.  There,  at  last,  I 
got  hope." 

"Were  there  any  marks  by  which  you  could  identify 
the  children?"  Ruden  asked. 

"Yes — I  have  mentioned  that  in  the  advertisements. 

"On  the  voyage — one  of  our  shoemakers  lost  a  little 
ball  of  wax  and  somehow  it  had  been  left  on  our  trunk, 
and  Ursula  one  day  found  that  the  wax  had  stuck  to 
one  of  her  undergarments  and  it  eventually  got  fas 
tened  on  her  thigh,  and,  strange  to  say,  when  the 


226  THE  MAGYAR 

child  was  born  we  found  a  birthmark  the  exact  color  of 
the  wax  on  his  thigh.  It  was,  the  professor  remarked, 
very  curiously  an  exact,  and  unmistakable,  outline  of 
the  map  of  Italy!" 

Ruden  arose  from  his  seat  and  paced  back  and  forth 
across  the  room  for  a  minute.  lie  drew  his  chair  up 
close  to  the  old  man  and  looked  intently  into  his  face. 
Then  he  planted  his  right  leg  over  his  left,  and  drawing 
a  line  with  his  finger  on  the  upper  part  of  his  thigh, 
said: 

"Right  there,  is  a  birthmark,  the  color  of  cobblers' 
wax  and  the  exact  shape  of  the  map  of  Italy,  and  my 
name  is  Stephen !" 

"God!"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  as  he  looked  up  to 
ward  the  roof — "don't  fool  me  at  this  age!" 

He  arose  and  took  Ruden — led  him  by  the  hand  as  he 
would  a  child — into  the  other  room.  They  were  gone 
but  a  minute — the  young  people  awaited  their  return 
in  breathless  silence. 

"Yes — yes,"  the  old  man  said,  as  he  returned,  weep 
ing,  coughing,  hesitating, — "this  is  the  snow  child — Oh, 
God !  let  down  your  big  hand  till  I  clasp  it — Ursula — 
dear,  he's  here  at  last — can  you  see  him?"  He  was  ut 
terly  oblivious  of  anybody  else — and  talked  to  God  and 
Ursula  as  if  they  were  sitting  by  the  log  fire  of  the  mu 
latto  lady. 

Ruden  was  speechless — he  just  stood  looking — or  try 
ing  to  look — for  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears.  When 
he  could  command  his  voice,  he  said — "Now,  where  did 
I  get  the  name  of  Ruden  from?" 

"  'Ruden,'  is  that  your  name?  "Why!  Bless  your 
soul — that's  your  mother's  name — her  father's  name 
was  Stephen  Ruden — he  was  a  pastor  in  our  village  and 
to  suit  these  quick  brainless  labor  bosses  we  called  our- 


"THE  SNOW  CHILD"  227 

selves  Ruden.  I  changed  it  again  when  my  quest  proved 
fruitless.  Isn't  it  odd  that  I  never  asked  you  what 
your  name  was-?" 

"No,  it's  not  a  bit  strange,"  broke  in  Nell.  "You 
never  did  ask  the  names  of  your  guests — you  always  said 
they  came  to  you  because  they  didn't  want  their  names 
known ! ' ' 

Father  and  son  heard  little  more  that  night.  They 
looked  at  each  other  long  and  searchingly.  The  father 
was  almost  childish  in  his  exultation.  lie  laughed  im 
moderately  and  at  trifles.  He  would  begin  the  recital 
of  an  incident  and  lose  the  thread — "well,  I've  forgot 
ten"  he  would  say,  "but  you're  here  now  anyway — 
that  settles  everything!" 

It  became  pathetic  and  Ruden  suggested  an  adjourn 
ment.  The  three  men  left  the  cottage  together.  When 
they  got  to  the  trolley  line  they  discovered  that  the  last 
car  for  the  city  had  gone. 

A  hack  came  along  and  Ruden  stopped  it.  "Are  you 
going  to  the  city?"  he  asked  the  driver. 

"Yes'r." 

"There  you  are,  "William,"  Ruden  said  as  he  fumbled 
for  the  fare. 

"Hold  on  thar, "  the  driver  said. 

"Sorry,  Colonel,  but  ah  don't  drive  no  niggers,  that's 
one  thing  sure." 

"All  right,  driver,  thank  you  just  the  same,"  William 
replied. 

The  hack  moved,  but  an  idea  came  to  the  black  man 
and  he  said,  "Pardon  me,  driver,  would  it  be  all  the 
same  to  you  if  I  drove  you  to  Anniston?  You  get 
into  the  hack  as  passenger,  and  I  will  drive  you  to  the 
city,  and  pay  you  for  the  privilege!" 

"A  durned  good  idea!"  said  the  astonished  hackman, 


228  THE  MAGYAR 

as  he  climbed  in  behind  "William,  with  the  fare  in  his 
hand. 

William  mounted  the  box,  took  the  reins  in  his  hand, 
and  drove  off,  saying  "Good  night,  Mr.  Ruden,  good 
night!" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

NIHILISM    OR   SOCIALISM WHICH? 

LONG  after  his  father  had  gone  to  sleep  in  that  strange 
out  of  the  way  village,  Stephen  Ruden  sat  with  the 
daguerreotype  of  his  mother  in  his  hand.  As  he  looked 
into  her  face  he  was  moved  to  the  depth  of  his  soul  by 
the  tragedy  of  the  poor.  lie  saw  it  in  her  face — that 
face  that  had  been  lighted  by  the  vision  of  a  new  land, 
a  new  home,  a  new  opportunity.  Then  the  fact  became 
the  mockery  of  the  dream — the  contact  with  the  disci 
ples  of  the  Nazarene  had  broken  her  faith — severely 
jarred  it,  anyway,  and  capitalism  had  broken  her  home 
and  maybe  her  heart. 

"Mother,  dear,"  he  murmured  softly,  "your  'snow 
child'  renews  his  allegiance  to  God  and  the  people  to 
night" — he  looked  intently  at  the  picture.  "I  have  not 
yet  suffered  unto  blood,  but  if  the  cause  demands  that 
sacrifice,  I  shall  not  falter,  your  sweet  face  will  give  me 
courage  in  that  hour  of  trial."  He  kissed  the  portrait, 
laid  it  gently  on  the  table  and  went  to  sleep. 

Father  and  son  spent  ten  days  in  close  communion. 
Minutely  Stephen  went  over  the  milestones  of  the  past, 
as  far  back  as  his  memory  carried  him.  His  earliest 
recollection  was  of  a  colored  woman  who  never  permitted 
him  out  of  her  sight  by  night  or  day.  He  remembered 
a  day  when  she  took  him  to  a  big  institution  in  New 
York,  where  he  lived  until  he  was  twelve.  It  was  the 
Watts  Orphan  Asylum,  but  how  he  came  to  be  put  there, 

229 


230  THE  MAGYAR 

he  never  knew.  lie  wept  for  days  for  the  colored 
woman,  whom  he  considered  his  mother  until  the  boys 
laughed  the  idea  out  of  his  head.  From  the  orphanage 
he  went  to  a  farm  in  Ohio,  where  he  was  brutally  treated 
and  often  cruelly  beaten  by  the  farmer.  At  the  end  of 
the  first  year  he  ran  away,  and  began,  at  the  age  of  thir 
teen,  the  real  struggle  of  life. 

"You  were  the  only  one  of  the  three  I  could  get  any 
trace  of,"  the  old  man  said,  in  explaining  the  guardian 
ship  of  the  colored  woman.  "The  Orphan  Asylum  has 
a  rule ;  it  has  not  broken  it  in  half  a  century.  It  gives 
no  information  concerning  the  children  under  its  care. 
They  have  been  haled  to  court  a  hundred  times,  but  they 
have  never  divulged  the  past  or  the  parentage  of  the 
social  driftwood  within  their  walls.  You  might  have 
been  playing  within  a  yard  of  me  when  I  was  pleading 
with  them  for  information ! ' ' 

Almost  daily  there  was  a  conference  around  the  little 
tea  table  in  Nell's  cottage.  It  was  in  the  old  man's 
cabin,  however,  that  Ruden  learned  to  know  his  father. 
It  was  something  of  a  shock  to  the  younger  man  to  learn 
that  his  father  was  an  aristocrat  in  rags.  Suffering  at 
the  wheel  of  labor,  feeling  the  sting  all  his  life,  of  the 
lash  of  the  task  masters  and  yet  utterly  distrustful  of 
democracy  and  hopeless  concerning  the  future  of  the 
people.  lie  was  an  extreme  type  of  individualist,  and 
believed  that  in  process  of  time  the  world  would  come 
to  an  industrial  patriarchy  in  which  the  industrial  mas 
ters  would  rule  their  workmen  as  did  Abraham.  When 
pressed  by  his  son  for  an  outline  of  the  process  by  which 
he  thought  this  would  come  to  pass,  he  said : 

"Each  man  must  do  his  part.  It  means  revolution — • 
not  a  revolution  such  as  you  have  been  talking  to  me 
about — I  wish  I  could  think  with  you  on  that,  but  I 


NIHILISM  OR  SOCIALISM— WHICH?        231 

cannot.  History — the  long  history  of  the  past  has  no 
instance  of  a  revolution  without  blood." 

"What  about  Christianity?"  Stephen  asked. 

"The  same,"  he  answered — "it  was  effected  by  blood 
— the  founder  shed  his  blood,  and  his  early  followers 
were  tortured,  burned,  thrown  to  the  lions  and  left  to 
fester  and  rot  in  dungeon  cells." 

"But,  father,"  the  younger  said  persuasively,  "the 
very  illustrations  you  give  can  be  used  against  the  the 
ory  you  hold — the  founder  and  his  followers  made  no 
resistance.  They  suffered  physical  torture  for  the  spir 
itual  ideal." 

"Passive  or  active  resistance  is  a  matter  of  detail," 
he  replied,  "it's  an  accident — the  effect  is  the  same — the 
price  paid  is  blood!" 

They  were  sitting  one  at  each  end  of  the  little  table. 
A  pot  was  boiling  on  the  little  stove,  and  as  an  occasional 
overflow  fizzed  and  sputtered  on  the  hot  metal  the  old 
man  looked  over  toward  it,  but  made  no  move — nor  did 
his  son. 

The  noon  whistle  blew  and  a  moment  later  the  little 
children  rushed  hither  and  thither  around  the  hut. 
Both  men  silently  watched  the  little  slaves  of  King  Cot 
ton  as  they  passed  the  door. 

Suddenly  the  hut  was  darkened  and  in  the  doorway 
through  which  most  of  the  light  came,  stood  Nell,  and 
behind  her,  William. 

"Ah,  you've  been  talking  politics  again,"  Nell  said, 
as  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  old  man's  shoulder. 

"Not  politics  exactly — Stephen  is  a  revolutionist,  but 
his  revolution  seems  to  consist  of  squirting  Eau  De  Co 
logne  or  shooting  peas  through  a  blower!" 

"Even  that,"  said  Ruden,  "can  be  proven  to  be  as 
effective  as  dynamite,  in  the  cause  of  the  people!" 


232  THE  MAGYAR 

"That's  cool  comfort  from  a  Socialist,"  Zap  said. 
"It's  cooler  than  nitroglycerine — I  admit!" 

William  attempted  to  change  the  current  of  thought 
but  was  not  very  successful. 

"I  have  just  discovered  that  my  father  is  a  Nihilist, 
"William —  '  Ruden  said,  "so  you  can  easily  imagine 
how  engrossed  we  were  in  our  conference,  when  you  ar 
rived." 

"A  Nihilist?"  exclaimed  Nell. 

"Yes,  with  a  real  Russian  flavor!" 

There  was  a  ripple  of  laughter  from  the  young  peo 
ple.  The  old  man  was  silent  for  a  minute.  If  there 
was  any  humor  in  the  remarks,  it  did  not  reach  him. 
There  was  a  cloud  on  his  face — a  sort  of  storm  signal 
of  the  heart,  which  the  young  people  were  quick  to 
notice. 

Nell  drove  the  three  men  into  a  corner,  while  she  laid 
the  table  for  dinner. 

"AVhat  hope  have  you  for  your  people,  "William?" 
the  old  man  asked. 

"Well,  between  your  picture  of  convulsion  and 
Stephen's  forest  of  Arden,  I  take  a  middle  ground.  The 
colored  race  has  a  future,  but  they  have  also  a  present, 
and  I  am  more  concerned  with  facts  than  fancies." 

When  pressed  for  a  more  definite  explanation,  he  ex 
plained  his  position.  While  he  was  doing  so,  it  was  evi 
dent  that  the  old  man  was  groping  for  light  in  his  own 
problem — a  problem  he  had  not  yet  even  mentioned  to 
his  son.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  when  only  one  per 
son  was  involved — now  there  were  two. 

"Go  on,  William,"  he  said  eagerly — "I  know  pretty 
well  where  you  stand,  but  I  want  Stephen  to  hear  it!" 

To  the  gardener,  there  were  two  capitals  in  the  black 
Kingdom  of  the  South.  He  explained  them.  One  was 


NIHILISM  OR  SOCIALISM— WHICH?       233 

at  Tuskegee,  the  other  at  Atlanta.  In  each  capital  a 
prophet  and  to  each  prophet  a  following.  One  leader 
pointed  the  way  to  salvation  through  labor — the  black 
man  was  to  appeal  to  the  white  man  through  a  well  tilled 
field  or  a  well  built  house.  The  other  was  more  revolu 
tionary — he  spoke  of  rights  and  urged  the  black  man  to 
stand  on  his  feet  as  a  man,  and  a  citizen.  "William  be 
gan  at  Tuskegee  and  wound  up  at  the  capital  of 
Georgia.  lie  was  an  advocate  of  armed  resistance,  and 
as  he  was  advancing  rapidly  to  leadership  himself,  he 
was  anxious  to  air  his  views — to  try  them  out.  He  spoke 
as  a  man  speaks  who  is  not  quite  sure  of  his  ground. 
The  old  man  reserved  his  fire  in  the  hope  that  it  would 
ignite  easier  after  AVilliam's  broadside. 

"Look  here,  William,"  Ruden  broke  in,  "you  don't 
mean  to  tell  us  that  to  arm  the  negroes  is  going  to  solve 
that  problem,  do  you?" 

"Yes,  I  do,  in  a  degree." 

"What  degree?" 

"To  the  degree  that  they  will  never  again  be  caught 
like  rats  in  a  trap  as  they  were  in  Atlanta  recently, 
Avhen  not  a  black  man  in  the  city  could  buy  a  gun,  and 
they  were  shot  like  dogs,  in  the  streets!" 

""William,  you  are  talking  of  things  cataclysmal — we 
were  speaking  of  growth,   and   no   healthy   growth — 
Ruden  began. 

"Yes — I  beg  pardon — yes,  there  are  cataclysms  that 
are  healthy  growths,"  the  old  man  said,  as  he  arose  to 
his  feet. 

Nell  was  ready  and  about  to  announce  the  meal,  but 
a  look  at  the  old  man's  face  startled  her — the  eyes  were 
fire  lit — the  brows  contracted  and  scowling.  The  white 
hair  seemed  alive — the  look,  as  a  whole,  was  less  than 
human,  and  affected  strangely  not  only  the  woman  but 


234  THE  MAGYAR 

the  two  younger  men.  All  the  tenderness  had  gone  out 
of  his  voice  as  well  as  out  of  his  face.  His  benign  fea 
tures  became  distorted. 

"Calvary  was  a  cataclysm,  so  was  '93 — Stephen,  a 
great  ancestor  of  yours  had  a  red  hot  crown  placed  on 
his  head  because  he  espoused  the  cause  of  the  people ! 
The  martyrdom  of  Lincoln  was  cataclysmal — so  was 
Gettysburg — for  forty  years  I  have  pined  and  prayed — 
studied  and  wondered — I  have  been  a  caldron  of  hate 
and  a  paragon  of  patience — I  have  sat  at  the  feet  of 
Jesus,  Mazzini,  Tolstoi  and  Bacunin  and  I  have  made 
up  my  mind.  My  nerves  are  of  steel.  I  shall  shock  the 
nation  into  a  sense  of  justice — the  very  foundations  of 
those  temples  of  dishonor  at  Washington  shall  trem 
ble."  He  was  panting  for  breath — but  no  one  dared 
interrupt  him.  His  hand  trembled,  and  he  came  for 
ward  and  leaned  on  the  table.  "I  have  counted  the 
cost — I  have  weighed  the  results  in  the  scales  of  God. 
It  is  an  age  of  cowardice — of  the  lust  of  gold  and  the 
pride  of  life.  Stephen,  you  talk  of  Democracy  as  if  it 
was  composed  of  men — Demos  is  a  drunken  giant,  shorn 
of  his  power — he  is  mud  brained,  blear  eyed  and  •mania 
cal—a  beast  in  the  maw  of  a  bigger  beast.  Educate 
him?  God  couldn't — he  wouldn't  try.  Demos  moves 
when  the  earth  trembles  around  him — when  the  lash 
stings  him — when  he  is  starved  into  madness!  God's 
method  of  treatment  is  cataclysmal  and  I — "  he  low 
ered  his  voice  and  his  eyes.  "I — I — well,  the  rest  is  for 
you,  Stephen,  you  alone!" 

Nell  tried  to  break  the  spell  of  solemnity,  but  failed. 
The  frugal  meal  sat  on  the  table  untouched.  Nell  and 
William  excused  themselves  and  left.  Father  and  son, 
when  left  alone,  resumed  the  discussion — "You  are  anx 
ious,  of  course,  to  know  the  nature  of  what  I  can  divulge 


NIHILISM  OR  SOCIALISM— WHICH?       235 

to  you  only — it  will  shock  you,  for  the  schools  have  left 
their  mark  on  you." 

"Go  on,"  said  the  son  impatiently. 

"Your  patience  is  exhausted  already!" 

"No,  not  that,  I  am  merely  on  edge  to  know  your 
plan." 

The  old  man  went  to  his  trunk — took  out  a  square  box 
—placed  it  on  the  table  and  again  looked  inquiringly  at 
his  son. 

"Before  I  open  this,  I  ought  to  explain  to  you,"  he 
said,  "that  for  ten  years  I  lived  in  the  same  hut  with 
Validhoff,  the  man  who  wrecked  the  palace  of  the  Grand 
Duke  Sergius  and  gathered  the  Duke  to  his  fathers  in 
1881." 

"And  he  made  you  a  Nihilist!"  Stephen  said,  laugh 
ing.  The  laugh  was  dry  and  forced,  for  a  look  of  pain 
overspread  the  old  man's  features. 

"Yes — he  did.  I  feared  that  the  sight  of  my  children 
might  change  my  mind,  but  it  has  only  intensified  my 
purpose." 

"What  have  you  there?" 

lie  uncovered  the  box  and  revealed  an  intricate  gan 
glia  of  metal  tubes, .  fuses,  giant  caps  and  copper  wire. 
Ruden  turned  ashy  pale.  All  that  he  had  ever  learned 
seemed  to  pass  in  review.  Every  hate  he  had  ever 
known  shot  through  him  again.  He  looked  from  the  in 
fernal  machine  to  his  father  and  then  back  to  the  ma 
chine. 

"So  that  is  your  cure  for  the  sufferings  of  the  people 
-is  it?" 

"No,  it's  my  contribution!  It's  an  alarm  bell, — a 
warning— a  tocsin  the  sound  of  which  rings  the  death 
knell  of  at  least  a  few  tyrants!" 

Ruden 's  first  impulse  was  to  argue  but  he  changed  his 


236  THE  MAGYAR 

mind  and  proceeded  to  draw  the  old  man  out — to  get  at 
the  bottom  of  his  plan.  It  was  a  less  difficult  undertak 
ing  than  he  imagined  it  would  be.  Forty  3Tears  of  suf 
fering — of  labor,  of  disappointment  and  hopelessness 
had  created  a  womb  of  despair  out  of  which  was  born 
this  intricate  instrument  for  the  violent  destruction  of 
human  life.  It  was  a  cut  across  lots  to  an  act  of  re 
venge.  He  thought  of  it  at  first  as  expiation  but  in 
speaking  of  it  he  preferred  to  speak  of  it  as  revenge, 
lest  he  should  be  accused  of  fanaticism  or  mysticism. 

Ruden  joked  a  little  over  the  plan.  His  father  looked 
dazed.  A  look  of  pain  covered  his  face  and  the  son 
changed  his  tactics.  They  examined  the  machine  to 
gether.  Every  detail  was  explained. 

' '  And  you  have  counted  the  cost  ? ' '  the  younger  said. 

"Yes." 

"And  you  think  we  have  the  same  justification  for  a 
bomb  that  they  have  in  Russia?" 

"I  am  not  particular  as  to  points  of  comparison.  I 
have  suffered  from  an  evil — my  corrective  will  focus  the 
gaze  of  the  world  on  the  tyranny  over  the  poor." 

"Despite  what  you  say,  my  father — I  am  sure  you 
have  been  tremendously  influenced  by  your  Russian 
friend  and  since  you  will  not  submit  your  plan  to  dis 
cussion  I  will  have  to  go  over  at  least  a  few  points  of 
contrast.  In  Russia  tyranny  is  hereditary.  Here  we 
elect  our  tyrants  and  consequently  misery  is  of  our  own 
making. 

"Representative  government  is  what  you  say  it  is — 'a 
farce,'  but  the  remedy  is  not  dynamite  but  intelligence. 
If  my  vote  is  offset  by  a  stupid  vote,  a  venal  vote,  I  must 
wake  up  my  ignorant  comrade." 

"Yes,  yes,"  the  old  man  said  impatiently.  "I  know 
that  line  of  argument.  I  have  reasoned  like  that  a 


NIHILISM  OR-  SOCIALISM— WHICH?        287 

thousand   times!     But   that   line   of   argument   has   no 
weight — none  whatever ! ' ' 

' '  Then  listen  to  this  one — you  are  my  father — I  hoped 
that  you  might  also  be  my  comrade  but  your  mental  at 
titude  pushes  us  apart.  We  are  mentally  as  far  apart 
as  the  poles.  Now,  if  you  persist  in  your  plot  I  will 
abandon  sonship  for  a  larger — more  important  relation 
ship." 

;' There  is  no  larger  relationship!"  the  father  inter 
rupted. 

"Yes,  there  is— I  am  a  son  of  the  people!" 

"What  would  you  do?" 

' '  Save  my  father  from  himself ! ' ' 

"How?" 

"Break  your  infernal  machine  or  be  blown  to 
atoms — 

They  were  rudely  interrupted  by  the  sudden  entrance 
of  a  mill  boy — panting— out  of  breath.  Without  a  word 
he  slid  under  the  table.  The  men  had  scarcely  time  to 
look  at  each  other  when  Robinett,  "the  whipper  in," 
appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Hello,  Zap!"  he  said,  looking  around  the  hut,  "did 
that  damned  kid  shoot  through  here?" 

"Yes —  '  the  old  man  answered,  "he  came  in  at  one 
end  and  went  out  at  the  other!" 

The  "whipper  in"  trotted  through  the  hut  and  dis 
appeared. 

The  old  man  shut  the  doors  and  pulled  the  urchin 
from  beneath  the  table. 

"What's  the  matter,  Sammy?"  he  asked. 

Sammy  whined. 

The  old  man  took  him  on  his  knee,  wiped  his  face  and 
soothed  him  into  calmness.  Then  he  went  to  the  cup 
board  and  brought  Sammy  a  slice  of  bread  covered  with 


238  THE  MAGYAR 

jam.  The  hoy  smiled  and  looked  into  the  old  man's 
face  with  gratitude  and  tenderness.  Then  he  looked  at 
Ruden.  He  saw  there  a  look  of  doubt  and  uncertainty. 

"What 're  you  doin'  here,  Mister?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  a  friend  of  Zap's." 

"Ye  look  stung!" 

The  old  man  poured  Sammy  out  a  glass  of  milk.  The 
boy's  eyes  sparkled  again.  "Gee!"  he  exclaimed — 
"ain't  ol'  Zap  the  goods  though?" 

Ruden  looked  at  his  father  and  thought  perhaps  a 
"father  of  the  people"  might  he  as  important  as  a  "son 
of  the  people."  Sammy,  now  full,  free  and  somewhat 
frolicsome  for  a  cracker  boy  began  to  yearn  for  the  open. 
The  doors  were  opened,  he  was  told  he  might  go.  ITe 
put  his  hands  on  the  old  man's  knees  and  said: 

"Zap,  Ah'm  goin'  to  shoot  Robinett  dead  some  day — 
Ah  sho  am." 

"Sh "  the   old  man   muttered— "don't  talk   like 

that  Sammy — it's  very  foolish." 

"Zap,"  the  boy  continued,  "Ah  knows  whar  th' 
watchman  keeps  'is  gun  nights— some  night  ef  Ah  km 
wake  up  Ah'm  agoin'  t'  sneak  in — take  'er  out  and 
blow  a  hole  through  ol'  Robinett 's  belly — yes'r;  right 
through  th'  middle  of  it — Ah  sho  will!" 

The  old  man  set  Sammy  on  a  chair  and  drawing  his 
own  close  up  he  talked  the  idea  clear  out  of  the  little 
towsly  head. 

This  made  Sammy  feel  rather  important  and  he  said 
as  he  left,  "All  right,  Zap,  Ah  won't  shoot  th'  old 
sucker — Ah '11  let  'im  live  awhile  longer — Ah  sho  will!" 

"How  long  have  you  held  that  relationship  to  the 
community,  father  ? ' ' 

There  was  a  new  tenderness  in  Ruden 's  voice. 

"Since  I  lost  vou,"  was  the  answer. 


NIHILISM  OR  SOCIALISM— WHICH?        239 

Sammy  Kelly  had  thrown  some  new  light  on  the  old 
man's  character — he  had  revealed  him  to  his  own  son  in 
a  way  that  no  amount  of  conversation  could  have  done. 

"Father,"  Ruden  said  as  he  laid  his  hands  on  his 
shoulders  and  looked  appealingly  into  his  face.  "I 
wish  you  would  adopt  this  cracker  boy's  philosophy!" 

"What  is  it?" 

"Let  the  suckers  live  awhile  longer!" 

The  old  man  put  the  lid  on  the  infernal  machine  and 
stowed  it  away  without  comment. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

"JUST  MARA" 

ABOUT  a  week  after  the  departure  of  Ruden,  a  poorly 
clad,  homely  looking  woman  rented  the  end  hut  in  "Shot 
Gun  Row,"  and  applied  for  work  in  the  mill.  She  told 
a  pitiful  tale  of  unfortuitous  circumstances  and  on  the 
strength  of  it — a  rare  thing  in  industry — obtained  a 
place  at  seventy-five  cents  a  day.  She  had  been  at  work 
several  days  before  her  next  door  neighbor,  Mrs.  Peter 
son,  had  a  word  with  her.  They  met  at  the  hydrant 
one  evening  after  working  hours  and  Mrs.  Peterson  in 
stinctively  knew  that  her  neighbor  had  seen  better  days. 
There  was  no  indication  of  it  on  her  face ;  it  looked 
wrinkled  and  homely  enough,  but  when  she  stepped 
aside  and  urged  Mrs.  Peterson  to  draw  her  water  first, 
Mrs.  Peterson  knew  by  the  tone  of  the  voice  and  by  the 
unselfish  courtesy, — a  rare  enough  thing  around  an 
Arden  water  hydrant — that  she  had  dropped  quite  a 
distance.  She  was  confirmed  in  her  estimate  when  the 
stranger  invited  her  into  her  hut  for  a  chat  about  mill 
matters.  There  was  very  little  furniture,  but  the  pic 
tures  on  the  board  walls  were  unlike  anything  in  Arden. 
Mrs.  Peterson  could  not  have  told  why — she  just  knew. 
They  were  few,  but  choice.  They  were  not  even  framed, 
but  they  looked  much  better  than  any  in  the  village. 
Then  the  stranger  had  betrayed  herself  by  a  sign  un 
mistakable.  She  used  a  tooth  brush !  A  burning  curi 
osity  seized  Mrs.  Peterson.  Her  neighbor  had  a  past. 
She  was  sure  of  that  and  wanted  to  know  at  least  a  lit- 

240 


"JUST  MARA"  241 

tie  of  it.  Mrs.  Peterson's  girl  "Willalee,  a  girl  of  nine, 
worked  in  the  mill.  Mill  children,  like  poets,  are  born, 
not  made.  "Willalee  had  been  in  the  mill  since  she  was 
a  thought  in  the  mind  of  her  parents.  Amid  the  roar 
and  thunder  of  ten  thousand  spindles,  she  developed  in 
her  mother's  womb,  and  her  mother  worked  there  until 
within  twenty-four  hours  of  the  child's  birth.  It  was  as 
natural,  therefore,  for  AYillalce  to  clutch  for  the  whirl 
ing  threads  with  baby  fingers  as  it  is  for  ducks  to  swim. 
At  four,  five,  and  six  she  played  amongst  the  dancing 
bobbins,  and  at  eight  was  a  full-Hedged  pay  envelope 
hand.  It  was  through  "Willalee  that  Mrs.  Peterson 
hoped  to  know  more  of  the  stranger's  past.  She  in 
structed  the  child  to  watch  for  her  neighbor  after  work 
and  walk  home  with  her.  She  listened  for  the  opening 
of  the  door  in  the  early  morning  and  whether  it  was  to 
get  water  from  the  hydrant  or  the  departure  to  work, 
AVillalee  was  on  hand. 

"AYe  uns  want  t'  know  yer  name,"  the  child  said  one 
morning,  as  they  walked  together  through  the  darkness 
to  the  mill. 

"Call  me  Mara,"  was  the  answer. 

"Mara  what?" 

"Just  Mara." 

So  throughout  the  mill  and  the  mill  village  the 
stranger  was  known  as  "Just  Mara." 

It  was  whispered  around  that  "Just  Mara"  must  have 
been  a  lady  at  some  previous  period  of  her  lil'c,  and  the 
whisperings  created  a  respect  that  no  other  woman  in 
the  mill  enjoyed,  and  the  only  man  that  enjoyed  it — if 
it  could  be  classed  as  an  enjoyment — was  Zap.  It  was 
natural,  therefore,  that  these  people  should  be  cata 
logued  together  in  the  mind  of  the  community  otherwise 
so  utterly  devoid  of  mystery  or  romance. 


242  THE  MAGYAR 

It  was  "Will alee  who  told  "Just  Mara"  of  Zap,  and  it 
was  Sammy  Kelly  who  told  Zap  of  "the  woman  with 
the  nice  voice."  Each  story  was  told  with  considerable 
exaggeration,  but  behind  the  childish  persiflage  could 
be  discerned  personality  enough  to  excite  interest  and 
curiosity. 

"Just  Mara"  and  Zap  met  at  the  hydrant  one  Sun 
day  afternoon,  and  before  they  carried  away  their  pails 
of  water,  each  of  them  knew  that  a  valuable  acquaint 
ance  had  been  made.  Indeed  they  forgot  for  at  least 
half  an  hour  that  they  were  standing  by  the  hydrant  at 
all,  so  interested  were  they  in  each  other.  That  even 
ing  they  took  tea  together,  and  Nell  was  there.  The 
second  meeting  was  at  Nell's  house.  The  calls  and  con 
ferences  were  almost  nightly  after  that,  and  to  each  they 
were  like  palm  groves  in  the  Sahara.  About  two  weeks 
after  the  meeting  of  Zap  and  "Just  Mara"  at  the  hy 
drant,  there  was  a  meeting  in  Nell's  cottage.  They  had 
discussed  the  mill  and  its  people;  the  village  and  its 
problems  until  there  seemed  little  more  on  that  topic  to 
say.  Each  of  them  longed  for  a  more  personal  acquaint 
ance,  but  no  one  seemed  anxious  to  open  the  gates  of  the 
past. 

Nell  was  the  most  reticent  and  the  less  curious  of  the 
three. 

"You  have  missed  a  line,"  Zap  said  to  "Just  Mara" 
in  a  jocular  vein.  "Just  Mara"  understood  and  winced 
not  nor  tried  to  hedge  the  hint. 

"Where?"  she  asked. 

"On  your  right  check,  there  is  one  less  than  usual." 
She  laughed  and  said,  "You  have  suspected  my  make 
up  for  some  time,  haven't  you?" 

"I  knew  it  and  disapproved  from  the  start — the  day 
I  met  vou  at  the  hydrant." 


"JUST  MARA"  243 

"It  was  my  protection." 

"It  was  a  good  disguise,  but  no  protection." 

"I  will  not  need  it  any  longer — I  have  learned  all  I 
wanted  to  know — but  I  would  like  to  do  something  be 
fore  I  leave ! ' ' 

"The  best  3-011  could  do  would  be  but  as  a  drop  in  a 
bucket." 

"I  know,  but  there's  some  sort  of  satisfaction  in  the 
explosion  of  pent-up  feelings!" 

"How  would  you  like  to  explode?"  Zap  asked. 

"I  would  like  to  have  a  meeting  in  the  schoolhouse  and 
tell  the  people  some  of  the  thoughts  that  came  to  me 
while  in  the  mill." 

"If  that  would  give  you  any  satisfaction,  I  can  ar 
range  the  meeting,  but  tell  me,  good  friend,  what  awak 
ened  you, — what  sort  of  dynamic  opened  your  eyes?" 

For  answer  she  sighed  and  said  evasively,  "My  God! 
what  a  world  of  sin  ! ' ' 

"Make  it  'sinners/  and  we  will  agree  with  you,"  Nell 
said. 

""Well,"  Zap  said,  "I'll  get  you  an  audience  anyway, 
and  you  can  unburden  yourself  and  leave  at  peace." 

"0  my  friend,"  she  said  piteously,  "I  would  sit  at 
your  feet — I  would  learn  of  you,  for  my  soul  is  so  rent 
— so  storm  tossed.  I've  been  such  a  miserable  cynic  all 
my  life — I  want  faith — faith  in  God,  faith  in  humanity, 
and  faith  in  myself !" 

The  old  man  was  moved  almost  to  tears — not  so  much 
by  what  she  said  as  by  the  picture  of  misery  she  pre 
sented,  as  she  gave  vent  to  her  heart  ciy. 

"Rather  would  I  learn  of  you,"  Zap  said,  "for  like 
Madam  Roland,  I  am  pious  when  my  heart  is  troubled, 
and  when  my  heart  is  at  peace  my  mind  wings  its  flight. 
I  would  fain  believe  and  yet  must  doubt. ' 


244  THE  MAGYAR 

"I  have  tried  to  act,"  she  said,  "as  if  faith  were  true, 
and  by  degrees  I  am  finding  that  fa.ith  is  truth.  While 
my  reason  is  asking  a  multitude  of  questions,  my  heart 
is  at  peace  in  God."  Then,  as  if  forgetful  of  their 
presence,  she  said,  looking  in  the  direction  of  a  little 
shrine  she  had  arranged  in  a  corner,  "Oh,  that  I  could 
go  back — Oh,  that  I  could  recall  the  years!" 

"Suppose  you  recall  your  speech  for  the  people  and 
let  the  past  go  for  a  night?" 

"Speech!  You  scare  me,  Mr.  Zap !  I  have  no  speech 
—I  'in  going  to  recall  my  emotions — my  disgust — my — 

"Wait  a  moment — they  have  enough  disgust  of  their 
own,  good  friend;  don't,  don't,  I  pray  you,  surfeit  them 
with  what  they  are  already  cursed  with — show  them  a 
way  out — give  them  a  program  if  you  have  one!" 

The  schoolroom  was  large  and  unlovely.  The  walls 
were  bare— the  floor  was  unswept.  It  was  a  queer 
crowd  that  gathered  there.  Nobody  knew  just  what  they 
were  there  for.  It  was'  a  "meetin'," — that  was  enough. 
Children  came  for  the  sake  of  an  extra  hour  out  of  bed. 
Old  folks  came  in  the  hope  of  amusement.  The  young 
folks  came  to  see  each  other.  It  was  a  change — a  break 
in  the  monotony. 

Zap  introduced  the  speaker.  "We  have  here  a  fel 
low  worker,"  he  said,  "who  has  seen  better  days.  She 
wants  to  talk  to  us  about  our  life  here.  Since  she  lives 
and  works  Avith  us  we  are  glad  to  sit  beside  her  for  an 
hour  and  hear  what  she  has  to  say."  Zap  knew  the  sit 
uation — lie  made  it  easy  for  Mara  to  speak.  Robinett 
stood  by  the  door.  He  was  evidently  displeased.  He 
cuffed  several  of  the  wriggling  youngsters  and  swore  at 
the  parents,  who  permitted  them  to  come.  Mara  re 
monstrated  with  him  in  a  gentle  manner  from  her  seat 
beside  Zap  on  the  platform. 


"JUST  MARA"  245 

"Go  on,"  he  shouted,  "shoot  off  yer  mouth  and  let 
these  kids  get  to  bed." 

"I  had  an  opportunity  a  few  weeks  ago  to  own  a  mill 
like  this  one,"  she  began,  "but  the  price  was  too  high. 
—What  do  you  think  I  was  asked  to  give  in  exchange 
for  it?" 

There  was  an  impressive  silence — created  not  merely 
by  the  words,  but  by  the  sound.  It  was  a  sound  seldom 
heard  in  those  parts.  It  contrasted  strangely  with  the 
make  up  of  the  speaker.  It  was  a  voice  that  had  known 
sorrow  and  carried  now  a  soothing  sympathy  to  the 
hearts  of  the  hearers.  "The  price  was  my  soul!"  she 
continued.  "I  refused  to  sell,  and  came  here  to  find 
out  what  kind  of  a  bargain  I  missed."  Zap  turned 
around  in  his  seat  and  riveted  his  eyes  on  the  speaker. 
The  women  stretched  their  necks  forward  in  strained 
attention.  Mara  saw  her  opportunity  and  pushed  in 
one  after  another  the  most  important  things  she  had  to 
say.  Her  advice  was  the  baldest  that  washed-out  au 
dience  had  ever  heard.  "Every  child  born  in  this  dis 
trict,"  she  said,  "is  the  making  of  a  white  slave — under 
the  conditions  imposed  upon  us  here  it's  a  crime  to  bring 
children  into  the  world.  We  mill  folks  are  called 
'white  trash' — we  are  despised  by  both  white  and  black 
people — we  are  damned  into  the  world — damned  while 
in  it,  and  die  without  ever  having  lived !  Life  to  us  is 
on  a  lower  level  than  that  of  the  horse.  As  I  have  gone 
to  my  hut  night  after  night  with  blistered  hands,  aching 
body,  and  bleeding  heart  I  have  been  so  filled  with 
hatred  that  I  could  blow  that  accursed  bastile  of  the 
poor  into  the  air!" 

"Better  weigh  yer  words,"  shouted  Robinett,  as  he 
glared  at  her  from  the  door. 

"I  have  weighed  them,"  Mara  answered,  "and  if  I 


246  THE  MAGYAR 

were  a  man  I  would  see  that  you  weighed  yours  a  little 
more  carefully  than  you  do!" 

Without  a  word  in  reply,  the  "whipper  in"  stepped 
to  the  middle  of  the  room,  pulled  down  the  big  oil  lamp, 
and  deliberately  blew  it  out. 

There  was  a  shout  and  a  rush  to  the  door. 

"Women  and  children  knocked  each  other  down  and 
fought  for  room  to  escape.  Children  screamed  in  terror 
as  they  clutched  viciously  at  anything  within  reach.  It 
was  but  the  work  of  a  minute  to  clear  the  house — Zap 
and  Mara  were  last  to  leave.  Many  were  hurt,  but  none 
of  them  seriously.  Robinett  laughed  and  joked  over  the 
plight  of  the  people.  "Git  a  move  on  now!"  he  said  to 
those  who  lingered  to  voice  their  grievances.  They 
moved  slowly.  Some  stood  still  and  were  rudely  pushed 
and  threatened  with  the  night  stick.  The  children  dis 
persed  more  quickly.  They  knew  how  he  kept  such 
threats.  Mara  and  Zap  moved  slowly  home  to  Shot  Gun 
Row.  In  less  than  an  hour  afterwards  the  village  had 
quieted  down,  the  lights  were  out  and  the  mill  hands 
were  asleep. 

Five  hours  later  they  were  startled  into  life  with  a 
shock  that  shook  the  distant  city.  It  was  a  muffled, 
deafening  roar  accompanied  by  vibrations  so  violent 
that  scores  were  shaken  out  of  their  beds.  Every  soul 
fit  to  move  rushed  out  into  the  darkness,  and  looked  in 
stantly  toward  the  mill.  It  was  no  longer  there.  A 
huge  heap  of  crumbled  ruins  occupied  the  site  and  from 
their  midst  shot  up  a  tongue  of  flame  against  the  stars. 
In  a  minute  the  community,  in  scant  attire,  stood  watch 
ing  the  flames.  One  man  was  alert,  bus}T,  excited, — it 
was  Robinett.  He  went  in  search  of  the  night  watchman 
— Mose  Streeter.  Mose  knew  nothing  of  the  origin  of 
the  catastrophe,  but  expressed  himself  as  being  grateful 


"JUST  MARA" 

that  he  was  out  of  the  building  when  the  explosion  took 
place.  Robinett  knocked  him  ilat  on  his  back  for  his 
gratitude  and  ignorance. 

By  the  time  Mose  had  picked  himself  up,  Robinett 
was  putting  Zap  through  a  third  degree  examination. 
That  finished,  he  went  to  Mara's  hut  and  put  her  under 
arrest. 

The  jail  was  a  small,  square,  windowless  structure, 
locally  known  as  the  ' '  sweat  box. ' '  Into  this  the  ' '  whip- 
per  in"  rudely  pushed  Mara  and  locked  the  door.  A 
hurried  conference  between  Robinett  and  Parsons,  the 
superintendent,  resulted  in  the  arrest  and  incarceration 
of  Zapolya, 

By  daylight  a  number  of  detectives  and  police  offi 
cials  of  Anniston  were  on  the  ground. 

The  mill  had  been  destroyed  by  dynamite, — no  one 
doubted  that, — but  by  whom  and  for  what  reason,  no 
one  ventured  to  guess, — no  one  but  Robinett. 

One  of  the  minor  local  stockholders  was  on  hand  early 
and  took  charge  of  the  investigation.  Robinett  was  the 
special  policeman  at  the  mill,  and  when  every  clue  had 
been  followed  and  exhausted  he  took  the  official  to  one 
side  and  explained  the  schoolhouse  meeting  in  detail. 
"Hand  them  right  over  to  the  city  police!"  he  said 
when  Robinett  told  of  Mara's  language  and  Zap's  rela 
tions  with  her. 

That  practically  ended  the  investigation.  Zapolya 
and  "Just  Mara"  were  hand-cuffed  and  taken  away  that 
forenoon.  A  crowd  of  mill  people  hung  around  the 
"sweat  box,"  hoping  for  a  glimpse  of  the  two  people 
they  had  loved,  but  who  since  they  had  incurred  sus 
picion  and  were  in  the  grip  of  the  law,  seemed  different 
—different  because  to  the  poor  a  charge  always  is  equiv 
alent  to  guilt. 


248  THE  MAGYAR 

The  Anniston  papers  printed  in  large  black  "Head 
lines:  "Arden  cotton  mill  destroyed  by  Socialists!" 
The  Governor  issued  orders  that  the  trial  be  pushed 
with  all  possible  despatch.  There  was  no  distinct  order 
to  that  effect,  merely  a  suggestion  over  the  'phone. 
The  accused  asked  for  no  legal  advice,  made  no  protest 
against  what  seemed  undue  haste  in  the  proceedings, 
and  the  result  was  that  the  trial  was  set  for  a  date 
which  under  ordinary  circumstances  would  not  have 
given  time  enough  to  empanel  a  jury. 

The  feeling  engendered  against  the  prisoners  by  the 
newspapers  grew  intense  and  bitter.  There  wasn't  a 
juryman  of  the  twelve  qualified  to  sit  on  the  case.  They 
had  all  made  up  their  minds. 

The  attorney  for  the  defense,  appointed  by  the  Court, 
permitted  the  selection  to  proceed  without  challenge. 
On  the  day  when  the  trial  began  the  court  room  was  filled 
to  its  capacity,  with  a  crowd  of  abnormal  citizens  to 
whom  a  tragedy  is  as  recreative  as  a  circus. 

The  first  witness  put  on  the  stand  was  Robinett,  the 
"whipper  in."  In  the  midst  of  his  testimony  there  was 
a  stir  in  the  rear  of  the  court  room — officers  gave  orders 
and  men  pushed  each  other  aside  in  their  eagerness  to 
catch  the  new  sensation.  It  was  the  lion.  John  Whit- 
tlesey,  Governor  of  the  State !  A  Court  officer  con 
ducted  him  to  a  seat  beside  the  presiding  Judge.  All 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  chief  magistrate,  and  he  looked 
as  if  he  knew  it.  When  settled  in  his  seat,  his  eyes 
wandered  around  the  Court  room  in  search  of  the  pris 
oners.  The  eyes  of  the  crowd  watched  and  followed 
him.  Finally  the  gaze  of  the  Governor  rested  on  Mara. 
She  met  it  with  a  look  full  of  scorn.  There  was  a  hur 
ried  conference  with  the  Judge — a  consultation  with 
the  lawyers,  and  a  statement  by  the  prosecution. 


"JUST  MARA"  249 

"If  your  Honor  please,"  said  tlie  district  attorney, 
"it  has  just  come  to  our  knowledge  that  the  female 
prisoner  at  the  bar  is  in  no  way  connected  with  the 
crime,  and  we  recommend  her  immediate  discharge ! ' ' 

"Stand  up!"  said  the  Judge,  in  a  patronizing  tone. 
Nobody  moved.  "Stand  up!"  he  again  ordered.  The 
Court  officer  took  Mara  rudely  by  the  arm  and  would 
have  raised  her  to  her  feet.  She  shook  herself  loose. 
"Is  he  talking  to  me?"  she  asked. 

"Shure!"  growled  the  officer. 

"If,  then,  he  has  no  respect  for  a  lady,  let  him  respect 
his  office  and  address  me  as  a  gentleman  should!"  The 
court  room  was  electrified.  The  officials  gasped  open- 
mouthed  and  the  crackers  craned  their  necks  to  catch 
the  slightest  sound.  The  intense  silence  that  followed 
was  soon  broken  by  a  hundred  low  exclamations  of  as 
tonishment.  The  Governor  and  the  Judge  had  their 
heads  close  together  for  a  minute.  The  district  attorney 
went  over  to  Mara  and  politely  asked  her  to  stand  while 
the  Judge  discharged  her.  Before  he  succeeded,  how 
ever,  the  Judge  amended  his  manners  and  got  Mara  on 
her  feet.  lie  informed  her  amid  a  silence  that  might 
have  been  created  by  the  delivery  of  a  sentence  of  death 
that  the  owners  of  the  mill  desired  her  discharge  be 
cause  of  lack  of  evidence. 

"I  desire  to  ask  the  Court  a  question,"  Mara  said. 

"Very-  well,"  was  the  Court's  reply,  "what  is  it?" 

"Has  the  prosecution  evidence  on  which  to  hold  the 
male  prisoner?" 

"Yes,  it  has!"  yelled  the  district  attorney,  before  the 
Court  could  answer.  Mara  stood  still.  There  was  an 
other  conference,  as  a  result  of  which  the  Judge  in 
formed  Mara  that  the  evidence  against  the  fellow  pris 
oner  was  of  a  serious  nature  and  would  be  considered. 


250  THE  MAGYAR 

"Then,"  said  Mara  deliberately,  "the  female  pris 
oner,  as  the  district  attorney  styles  her,  refuses  to  be 
discharged.  I  demand  to  be  tried!" 

There  was  no  official  reply  to  the  demand.  Mara  was 
ordered  to  sit  down  and  the  trial  proceeded.  Half  a 
dozen  witnesses  were  examined  during  the  afternoon. 
When  Court  convened  next  morning,  it  was  announced 
that  the  people's  case  in  the  destruction  of  the  mill  had 
failed,  and  the  prisoners  were  discharged. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    CAFE    COSMOPOLITE 

A  WEEK  after  their  discharge  Mara  and  Zap  sat  op 
posite  each  other  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  Cafe  Cos 
mopolite,  a  well  known  East  Side  Hungarian  restau 
rant  in  New  York.  It  was  foreign  soil  to  Mara,  Zap 
was  at  home.  A  stringed  orchestra  rendered  at  inter 
vals  the  music  of  his  far  off  mountain  home.  The 
waiters  took  orders  in  the  language  of  the  Magyars. 

"This,"  said  the  old  man,  "is  a  little  bit  of  my  na 
tive  land;  it  is  so  peaceful  to  me  after  the  years  of 
sorrow  and  unrest." 

"I  wish  I  could  find  such  a  palm  grove,"  Mara  said, 
"but  I  must  find  mine  in  the  land  of  the  mind." 

"That's  higher  and  better,"  he  said. 

A  strong  attachment  had  sprung  up  between  these 
people  so  strangely  thrown  together.  They  had  sepa 
rated  at  the  Anniston  Court  House  door  and  met  again 
by  appointment  at  this  other  door,  in  Bohemia.  The 
appointment  was  of  the  woman's  making.  She  con 
templated  a  revolutionary  change  in  her  life  and  felt 
confident  that  the  old  man  could  give  her  the  wisdom 
she  thought  she  stood  so  much  in  need  of. 

"Do  you  believe  in  metempsychosis?"  he  said. 

"Why?" 

"I  never  gave  it  much  attention  until  I  met  you." 

"My  antiquity  suggested  two  lives  in  one — was 
that  it?" 

251 


252  THE  MAGYAR 

"Not  that  exactly,"  she  said  smiling,  "I  imagined  I 
had  seen  you  in  another  life." 

"That  is  possible  without  the  transmigration  of 
souls." 

"How?" 

"I  have  two  sons." 

"Tell  me  about  them." 

"I  have  only  seen  one—' 

"Ah,  yes,  I  remember,"  she  said,  "you  told  me — 
He  completed  the  interrupted  sentence— "I  have  only 
seen  one  of  them  since  they  were  children,  and  I  saw  him 
but  for  a  few  days." 

"At  what  age?" 

"In  his  maturity — quite  recently." 

A  strain  of  music  took  the  old  man's  mind  away 
from  his  immediate  environment.  A  weird  touch  with 
tears  in  it.  Mara  watched  his  face  as  it  wept  and 
smiled  with  the  violin.  It  was  the  face  of  a  poet. 
There  was  a  flash  of  soul  fire  through  the  eyes — a  light 
ing  up  of  the  countenance,  an  occasional  tossing  to 
one  side  of  the  massive  head  of  the  big  shock  of  white 
hair  that  hung  over  the  fine  forehead.  Mara  was  com 
paring  his  face  with  the  faces  she  knew  best.  The 
music  died  down.  There  was  applause  by  the  diners 
and  Zap  was  recalled  to  his  companion. 

"You  are  fond  of  music,"  she  said. 

"Not  particularly,"  he  answered.  "I  am  fond  of 
life  and  I  am  attracted  by  its  best  interpreters.  The 
piece  w^e  have  just  listened  to  is  by  a  wild  free  soul 
of  the  Transylvania  mountains.  He  nerves  men  to  en 
deavor,  generates  the  martyr  spirit  and  spiritualizes 
life's  lower  levels." 

"That's  a  good  definition  of  religion,"  Mara  sug 
gested. 


THE  CAF^  COSMOPOLITE  253 

"It  is  religion!"  he  replied. 

"Have  you  always  struck  the  positive  note?"  she 
asked. 

"You  saw  my  bomb?" 

"Yes." 

"Was  that  a  positive  note?" 

"I  should  say  not!" 

"Well,  that  was  the  note  I  struck  until  I  found  my 
son — he  has  been  ground  between  the  upper  and  nether 
millstones  of  the  status  quo,  but  he  is  scientific,  he  has 
a  lively  hope  and  a  philosophy  of  life  that  shamed  me 
in  my  old  age." 

"Did  it  shame  you  out  of  your  grouch?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  as  if  analyzing  her  question,  "and 
he  did  more,  he  gave  me  a  philosophy  of  life." 

"Ah!"  she  ejaculated — "I  wish  he  would  give  me  one 
—that's  what  I  want  with  you — 1  want  you  to  bring 
order  out  of  chaos — give  me  a  plan." 

"Are  you  ready  for  it?" 

"I  think  so."   * 

"Then  you  will  submit  it  to  your  husband  for  ap 
proval?" 

"I  have  no  husband — I — I  did  have  one,  but  I  gave 
him  up — I  gave  him  up  because  he  was  the  very  in 
carnation  of  what  I  am  now  seeking. ' ' 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  him?" 

"I  cannot — I  am  ashamed,  beside  I  think  he  loves 
another." 

"Have  you  children?" 

"Yes,  three,  and  I  cannot  see  them  until  I  am 
grounded  in  my  new  hope,  my  new  religion." 

Zap  had  ordered  a  Goulash  arranged  to  suit  one  not 
acquainted  with  the  Hungarian  dish.  When  it  arrived 
Mara  joked  and  laughed  over  it.  It  was  both  a  meal 


254  THE  MAGYAR 

and  a  joke  to  both  of  them.  Music  accompanied  the 
meal,  this  time  it  was  a  militant  strain.  They  could 
hear  the  horses  prancing  on  parade,  then  the  measured 
tread  followed  by  a  confusion  of  noises,  cannon  and 
musketry.  In  a  calm  could  be  heard  the  groaning  of 
the  wounded  and  then  the  wreeping  of  women  and  little 
children.  Every  man  and  woman  in  the  Cafe  was 
nerve  strung  to  a  high  degree.  Intense  silence  reigned. 
There  was  neither  eating  nor  drinking  until  the  last 
low  sound  had  died  away — then  tumultuous  applause 
— and  cries  of  "Encore!" 

"This  isn't  quite  the  place  for  a  quiet  talk,"  Mara 
said  as  the  musicians  dispersed  for  the  recess. 

"True  enough,"  he  said,  "but  people  don't  come 
here  to  be  quiet.  They  come  here  to  get  relief  for  an 
hour  from  the  grind,  from  the  monotony." 

Mara  took  full  advantage  of  the  recess  tfc/  unburden 
herself.  The  necessity  of  earning  a  living  was  weigh 
ing  heavily  upon  her  mind,  and  she  made  the  subject 
a  first  order  of  business.  Then  she  discussed  the  regi 
mentation  of  the  idea  that  now  dominated  her  life.  In 
describing  her  feelings  on  the  matter  she  described  also 
the  ideas  of  her  friend.  He,  too,  had  come  to  believe 
that  reform  ideas  must  be  mobilized  to  effect  results. 
As  they  talked  they  noticed  the  man  who  waited  upon 
them  move  uneasily  around.  lie  was  looking  them 
over  with  an  unusual  interest. 

Zap  ordered  an  extra  cup  of  coffee. 

"Did  you  notice  that  waiter?"  Mara  asked. 

"Yes,  he's  a  propagandist." 

"I  had  a  talk  with  him  yesterday." 

When  the  man  returned  with  the  coffee  Zap  addressed 
him  in  Hungarian.  For  reply  the  man  produced  a  red 
card. 


THE  CAF£  COSMOPOLITE  255 

"I  thought  so,"  Zap  said,  smiling. 

The  men  talked  for  a  few  minutes  in  their  native 
tongue. 

"He  tells  me  there's  a  meeting  to-morrow  night  at 
Aurora  Hall.  He  presides  and  would  like  you  to  be 
one  of  the  speakers." 

' '  Did  you  tell  him  of  the  success  of  my  last  venture  ? ' ' 
Mara  asked,  smiling. 

"I  told  him  you  were  aching  for  another  oppor 
tunity." 

"Well,  I'm  not  quite  aching  to  make  a  fool  of  myself 
again,  but  I'll  speak  if  there's  an  opportunity." 

"You  know  what  that  involves,  I  suppose." 

"My  address?" 

"No,  not  your  address,  but  your  initiation  into  the 
party. ' ' 

"I  am  prepared  for  that." 

"I  doubt  your  preparedness.  The  party  is  now  in 
the  hands  of  about  as  incompetent  a  group  of  men  as 
ever  dominated  a  political  movement — garrulous,  hate 
ful,  dictatorial  and  dogmatic.  You  will  be  received  as 
a  sheep  would  among  goats.  You  will  be  pitied  and 
patronized  by  men  who  are  more  in  need  of  a  bath 
than  a  commonwealth." 

Mara  smiled  and  then  tears  filled  her  eyes. 

"You  were  not  listening,"  he  said. 

"I  was,"  she  answered,  "but  I  was  also  reminiscent 
—I  have  used  all  those  objections — with  phrases  like 
those  I  have  browbeaten  one  of  the  noblest  human  souls 
that  ever  loved  his  kind — they  are  meaningless  to  me 
now,  it's  the  truth  that  counts.  The  priests  of  the  new 
order  are  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water,  but 
they  bring  us  a  religion  that  will  free  the  world!" 

"Your  husband?"  he  asked  temlerlv. 


256  THE  MAGYAR 

"Yes,"  she  said  with  trembling  lips,  "the  man  I  bar 
tered  away  for  a  round  of  pleasure  with  the  inane  Bour 
geoisie. " 

"AVhat  will  you  talk  about  to-morrow  night?"  he 
asked  in  an  effort  to  change  a  disagreeable  subject. 

"The  terms  of  the  sale!"  she  replied  at  once. 

The  waiter  began  to  clear  the  table.  While  he  was 
doing  so  he  unostentatiously  laid  a  card  before  Mara 
containing  full  directions  how  to  reach  the  place  of 
meeting. 

"This  reminds  one  of  French  history,"  Mara  said, 
"is  there  any  reason  for  such  silent  propaganda?" 

"None,  but  long  experience  teaches  men  of  this  type 
to  approach  strangers  cautiously  and  quietly — I  pre 
pared  the  way  by  telling  him  about  you  last  night." 

Again  the  music  stilled  the  hum  of  voices.  Under  its 
influence  people's  eyes  wandered  around  the  place  in 
search  of  a  resting  place.  The  minds  wandered  not 
after  the  eyes,  but  back  over  the  years  or  out  into  the 
unknown  future. 

"AVhat  a  poetic  people  you  Magyars  are!"  Mara  said, 
as  she  looked  around  and  noticed  the  rapt  attention 
under  the  spell  of  the  music. 

"Poetry  is  not  a  matter  of  race,"  he  said.  "The 
whole  human  family  is  naturally  poetic,  artistic  and 
aesthetic,  but  in  millions  these  manifestations  of  the  quest 
after  God  are  murdered.  They  come  up  out  of  the  pit 
at  the  close  of  the  day,  eat,  rest  and  sleep,  and  go  back 
into  it  at  dawn.  They  are  not  here.  Those  around 
these  tables  are  the  escaped." 

"Partially  escaped,"  Mara  said,  "for  how  can  any  of 
us  be  said  to  have  escaped  while  so  many  are  still  in 
captivity?" 

"Well,  discuss  that  in  your  speech  to-morrow  night." 


THE  CAFE  COSMOPOLITE  257 

"If  I  should  miss  you  by  any  chance  after  the  meet 
ing,  my  son  and  I  will  call  for  you  Saturday  evening  at 
six." 

Twenty  minutes  later  they  parted  at  the  door  of 
Mara's  hotel  on  AYashington  Square. 

As  the  old  man  walked  slowly  back  to  his  lodging 
on  East  Houston  Street  he  went  over  in  his  mind  the 
brief  space  of  his  acquaintance  with  this  strange  woman 
of  whom  he  knew  so  little  and  yet  so  much.  He  had 
not  even  asked  for  her  name.  He  knew  nothing  of  her 
antecedents  save  an  occasional  reference  to  a  relative 
or  to  a  former  state  of  mind.  A  revolution  had  taken 
place  in  her  heart  as  wrell  as  in  her  mind.  Every  time 
he  looked  at  her  he  thought  of  his  son.  He  hoped  that 
they  would  fonn  a  comradeship  of  a  more  than  ordi 
nary  kind.  They  were  both  touched  with  the  same 
tender  regard  for  the  weak.  They  were  obsessed  with 
the  same  social  passion  and  point  of  view.  He  longed 
for  Saturday  night. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A   DEDICATION   IN    THE    GHETTO 

THE  soul  of  the  Ghetto  is  religious,  but  not  ecclesiastical. 
It  is  political,  but  has  nothing  in  common  with  the  domi 
nant  parties.  It  is  social,  but  in  eternal  conflict  with 
the  outgrown  and  useless  institutions.  In  the  midst  of 
religious  lethargy  and  political  graft  and  corruption  it 
proclaims  its  faith  in  a  coming  clay  of  peace.  It  has 
no  race  distinctions.  Men  of  all  races,  all  classes,  and 
all  creeds  are  of  it.  It  is  not  confined  to  political  cam 
paigns  or  elections.  It  takes  no  recess — no  vacation. 
It  wields  a  keen-edged  sword,  but  it  carries  also  a  build 
er's  trowel.  Its  propaganda  is  a  new  religion.  Its- 
propagandists  are  the  martyr  stuff  of  the  twentieth  cen 
tury.  They  are  of  the  working  class  largely,  and  con 
sequently  limited  in  the  literary  expression  of  the  social 
passion  that  burns  in  them  like  a  lambent  flame. 

Aurora  Hall  is  in  the  heart  of  the  Ghetto.  Zap  and 
Mara  found  it  crowded  to  overflowing  when  they  ar 
rived.  They  arrived  within  ten  minutes  of  each  other, 
and  were  shown  to  seats  on  opposite  sides  of  the  plat 
form.  It  was  a  protest  meeting,  and  although  the  cen 
ter  of  grievance  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  continent,  it 
was  felt  as  poignantly  by  the  soul  of  the  Ghetto  as  by 
the  laborers  who  had  been  ambushed  by  process  of  law. 

The  wraiter  of  the  Cafe  Cosmopolite  was  introduced 
as  the  chairman  of  the  meeting.  In  his  three-minute 
speech  he  spoke  in  three  languages.  The  first  speaker 
of  the  evening  was  Fred  Hartzell,  a  popular  agitator  of 

258 


A  DEDICATION  IN  THE  GHETTO         259 

the  East  Side.  The  audience  was  composed  largely  of 
men — men  with  keen  upturned  intellectual  faces.  The 
speech  was  a  torrent  of  wrords  that  swept  over  their 
souls  and  swayed  them  as  a  breeze  sweeps  over  the  ripe 
rye  of  the  field.  He  spoke  with  his  body  as  well  as 
with  his  tongue.  He  tossed  his  massive  head  back  and 
roared.  At  times  the  sounds  were  harsh  and  tinged 
with  sarcasm ;  at  other  times  they  became  lower  and  as 
tender  as  the  lullaby  of  a  refined  mother.  He  outlined 
the  grievances  of  the  western  comrades,  and  made  a 
plea  for  solidarity,  for  funds  and  for  a  public  expres 
sion  of  disapproval.  It  wras  a  violent  and  explosive  ex 
pression  on  the  whole  and  in  sharp  contrast  to  the 
speaker  who  followed  him. 

"By  a  strange  coincidence,"  said  the  chairman,  "we 
have  two  speakers  to-night  who  have  had  some  personal 
experience  in  the  muscle  market,  the  ethics  of  which 
we  are  discussing.  I  now  introduce  to  you  Attorney 
Ethel  Ainsworth!" 

It  was  Miss  Ainsworth 's  first  appearance  before  an 
audience  composed  chiefly  of  propagandists — she  re 
moved  her  hat  as  she  mounted  the  platform.  She  was 
neatly  gowned  and  her  face  was  radiant.  Fresh  from 
the  scenes  of  labor's  martyrdom  she  was  full  of  her 
subject.  The  introduction  was  awkward^  but  as  she 
steadied  herself  mentally  and  physically  she  gave  an 
orderly  arrangement  of  experiences  in  the  labor  camps 
of  the  South,  and  of  her  part  in  the  now  celebrated  trial 
of  Llwellyn  Oglethorpe  for  Peonage.  When  she  con 
cluded  the  applause  was  tremendous  and  prolonged.  It 
was  prolonged  until  she  arose  in  her  seat  and  bowed  her 
acknowledgments.  The  second  round  of  applause  had 
scarcely  died  away  when  the  next  speaker  was  intro 
duced.  The  chairman  consulted  his  notes,  then  stepped 


260  THE  MAGYAR 

to  the  side  of  old  Zap,  and  after  a  moment's  inquiry 
returned. 

"The  next  speaker,"  he  said,  "has  also  been  at  the 
front.  I  hope  her  experience  has  been  as  unique  as  her 
name — I  take  pleasure  in  introducing  to  you  Mrs.  Just 
Mara  of  New  York." 

Mara  was  pale  and  haggard,  but  she  had  nerved  her 
self  for  the  effort.  Her  jacket  and  hat  she  laid  on  the 
table.  In  her  seat  she  had  planned  just  how  she  could 
get  a  steadying  grip  on  the  little  table  011  the  platform. 
As  she  laid  her  things  on  it  she  pulled  it  over  in  front 
of  her  and  took  the  edge  of  it  in  her  right  hand.  All 
this  was  done  too  quickly  to  be  noticed  by  the  audience, 
but  there  were  three  people  who  gazed  loose- jawed  at 
her  from  the  moment  she  ascended  the  platform. 

"I  am  not  going  to  try  to  make  a  speech,"  she  said, 
"physically  I  am  unable.  Besides,  the  previous  speaker 
has  gone  over  the  ground  I  wished  to  travel." 

There  was  a  pause.  Instinctively  every  man  and 
woman  in  the  place  saw  a  soul  struggle  in  her  face. 
Her  lips  trembled.  She  took  a  tighter  hold  of  the 
table,  and  by  a  supreme  effort  pushed  back  the  latent 
tears — cleared  her  throat  and  said:  "I  will,  however, 
make  a  personal  confession."  It  was  not  the  mere 
wording  of  what  she  said  that  electrified  the  audience. 
In  a  minute  she  had  created  an  atmosphere  in  which 
men  and  women  were  forced  to  open  wide  the  ear  gates 
to  their  souls.  There  were  tears  in  her  words  and  the 
poorly  modulated  sounds  were  those  of  a  soul  in  pain. 

' '  I  fought  for  years  the  truth  for  which  you  stand.  I 
was  bitter  and  embittered  the  lives  of  others.  I  loved 
what  we  call  society.  I  thirsted  for  the  recognition  of 
the  vulgar  rich.  I  got  it.  The  price  was  high — very 
high."  She  paused,  the  stillness  seemed  breathless, 


A  DEDICATION  IN  THE  GHETTO         2G1 

"It  cost  me  my  home,  my  husband  and  almost  my 
soul!"  A  longer  pause  and  a  fiercer  struggle,  then  she 
continued:  "On  the  edge  o-f  the  abyss,  I  found  my 
self.  It  was  a  rude  awakening,  but  I  was  saved  from 
the  sleep  of  death.  I  have  emerged  from  the  mausoleum 
of  dead  hopes,  of  negation,  of  casuistry  and  selfishness, 
and  on  this  platform  and  in  the  midst  of  my  comrades  I 
dedicate  myself  to  the  cause  of  the  people  !"  As  she  ap 
proached  the  end  of  the  sentence  she  gained  in  confi 
dence,  she  stood  erect,  her  eyes  flashed  and  the  color 
came  to  her  cheeks.  The  audience  didn't  let  her  quite 
finish  the  sentence ;  it  broke  into  loud  applause — at  first 
of  hand  clapping — then  it  broke  into  a  cheer — and  the 
cheer  had  fire  and  passion  in  it.  While  they  were  cheer 
ing  Mara  turned  and  whispered  to  the  chairman.  He 
immediately  arose,  and  as  the  cheering  subsided,  called 
for  an  application  blank.  A  man  arose,  walked  to  the 
platform,  and  handed  the  blank  to  Mara.  She  signed  it 
and  the  man  countersigned  it.  The  chairman  took  it 
out  of  her  hand  and  read  to  a  breathless  audience : 

"MADELINE  RUDEN 

PROPOSED  BY 

STEPHEN  RUDEN  OF  LOCAL 

NEW   YORK." 

In  a  flash  the  situation  was  made  clear.  The  audience 
again  broke  into  a  cheer,  and  so  wild  was  the  outburst 
that  the  chairman  was  unable  again  to  restore  order. 
Hundreds  crowded  to  the  front  and  grabbed  the  Rudens 
by  the  hands.  Husband  and  wife  were  in  tears — Zap 
kissed  them  both  as  he,  too,  wept  like  a  child.  Ethel 
Ainsworth  pushed  her  way  through  the  crowd  and  put 


262  THE  MAGYAR 

her  arms  around  Mrs.  Ruden's  neck.  They  kissed  each 
other  without  a  word,  but  with  looks  more  eloquent 
than  speech. 

After  the  meeting  the  Rudens,  Zap  and  Miss  Ains- 
worth  went  to  the  old  man's  lodging. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A    MIDNIGHT    CONFERENCE 

NEITHER  Madeline  nor  Ethel  Ainsworth  were  as  yet 
aware  of  the  relation  of  the  ex-minister  to  the  old  man. 
When  the  fact  was  made  known  Madeline  was  filled  with 
joy.  She  kissed  the  old  man  over  and  over  again.  She 
wept  as  she  caressed  him.  Ethel  sat  at  a  distance  in  a 
meditative  mood  thinking  of  deeper  things.  Stephen 
Ruden  was  silent.  It  was  the  crucial  moment  of  his 
life.  A  great  problem  was  before  him.  He  knew  not 
where  to  begin,  but  begin  he  must — somewhere.  The 
old  man  was  almost  childish  in  his  glee.  His  heart 
was  overflowing  with  love.  They  had  all  divested  them 
selves  of  their  hats  and  outside  wrappings  and  seated 
themselves  as  comfortably  as  the  scant  accommodation 
of  the  dingy  room  afforded.  The  old  man  drew  hia 
chair  close  to  Ethel. 

''You  seem  to  have  the  smallest  measure  in  this 
feast,"  he  said,  smiling  through  his  tears. 

"I'll  take  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  the  table,"  she 
answered. 

Madeline  took  advantage  of  the  old  man's  attention 
to  Ethel  and  wrent  over  to  her  husband.  He  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed.  She  seated  herself  beside  him. 

"Can't  we  settle  all  this  to-night,  Stephen?"  she 
asked. 

"All  what,  Madeline?" 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment. 

"Stephen,"  she  said,  "it  is  the  crisis  of  your  life — not 

263 


264  THE  MAGYAR 

mine.  Let  us  have  no  fencing — no  beating  about  the 
bush,  let  us  go  to  the  heart  of  the  subject  and  straighten 
it  out." 

"Why  isn't  it  the  crisis  of  your  life,  as  well  as 
mine?" 

"My  crisis  is  past.  I  am  no  longer  your  wife,  I  want 
to  see  you  happy — I  shall  see  you  happy  ! ' ' 

The  inflection  in  Madeline's  voice  attracted  Ethel's 
attention.  She  looked  over  Zap's  shoulder.  As  she  did 
so  she  met  the  gaze  of  the  Rudens,  both  of  whom 
thought  of  her  at  the  mention  of  the  word  "happy." 

Ethel  arose  hastily.  She  evidently  divined  the  mat 
ter  under  discussion  and  left  Zap  without  apology  so 
wholly  engrossed  was  she  with  the  problem  of  which 
she  considered  herself  a  vital  part. 

"Look  here,"  she  said,  laying  a  hand  on  Madeline's 
shoulder,  "pardon  me  for  interrupting  you,  but  I  want 
to  be  a  gateway  through  which  you  people  will  walk  to 
happiness  and  freedom." 

"Pardon  me —  '  Madeline  broke  in,  but  Ethel  inter 
rupted  her — "just  a  moment,  Madeline."  . 

"What's  all  this  serious  discussion  about  on  such  a 
night  of  joy?"  Zap  asked  as  he  followed  Ethel.  They 
looked  at  him  for  an  instant  in  silence. 

Stephen  Ruden  spoke.  "Father,"  he  said,  "we  have 
here  a  problem  that  will  rend  the  very  souls  of  three 
of  us — help  us  out ! ' ' 

The  seats  were  rearranged  and  the  four  people  re 
seated  themselves  and  looked  at  each  other.  Ruden  and 
Miss  Ainsworth  spoke  at  once.  The  latter  would  not  be 
diverted. 

"There  is  really  no  problem,"  she  said.  "I  am  an 
invader — I  must — I  demand  to  be  eliminated!" 

"Well,  at  least,"  Ruden  said,  "We  must  not  play 


A  MIDNIGHT  CONFERENCE  205 

with  words  or  deceive  ourselves  or  each  other — there  is 
&  problem,  Ethel,  as  vital  as  life  and  as  grave  as  death." 

The  old  man  eagerly  scanned  their  faces.  The  dim 
yellow  gas  light  revealed  them  imperfectly,  and  the  mel 
lowness  of  his  heart  militated  against  the  sharpness  of 
his  judgment.  lie  sensed  the  delicacy  of  the  situation, 
however,  and  suggested  a  plan  by  which  they  could  get 
at  the  heart  of  the  matter  with  the  least  amount  of  em 
barrassment  to  the  people  involved. 

"If  it's  as  serious  as  all  that,"  the  old  man  said, 
"why  not  state  the  case  and  let  me  judge?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  should  ask  for  a  transfer  of  jurisdic 
tion,"  Ethel  said. 

"Why?" 

"Prejudice." 

"Oh,  Ethel!"  Ruden  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  Stephen!"  she  replied.  "I  am  joking — trying 
to  keep  back  a  fit  of  hysteria  or  something." 

Madeline  went  over  and  kissed  her,  then  resumed  her 
seat. 

"Then  you  are  agreed  that  I  hear  the  case  and  de 
liver  judgment?" 

"Personally,"  Ethel  interjected  again,  "my  objec 
tion  is  on  the  ground  that  my  testimony  is  immaterial 
and  irrelevant." 

"In  that  case,"  Zap  said,  "it's  a  matter  of  weighing 
the  evidence  rather  than  counting  the  witnesses." 

"This  is  the  case  in  a  nutshell,"  Madeline  began. 
"As  I  told  the  audience  I  fought  Stephen  and  his  ideals 
for  years.  I  made  life  a  burden  for  him  and  finally 
gave  him  up.  I  positively  went  after  pleasure — my  own 
personal  pleasure.  In  his  loneliness  came  his  young 
convert,  Ethel.  He  inspired  her  into  a  large  field  of  life 
on  high  levels,  of  service  to  her  kind.  She  came  to  him 


266  THE  MAGYAR 

at  the  darkest  period  of  his  life,  when  wife,  friends, 
home,  profession,  everything  fell  from  him  and  left  him 
like  a  leper,  despised  and  rejected  of  men !  Their 
friendship  ripened  into  love.  In  different  capacities  of 
social  service  they  hoth  went  South.  He  suffered  the 
torments  of  hell,  while  I  wras  bartering  away  my  soul — " 
she  hesitated,  her  emotions  almost  overcame  her,  her 
lips  trembled.  "Zap,"  she  said  falteringly,  "I  saw 
him  in  convict  stripes,  I  heard  his  tender  voice  sooth 
ing  and  comforting  the  men  around  him.  I  knew  he 
was  a  convict  for  a  principle,  I  knew  he  was  in  a  modern 
Gethsemane,  and  I  deliberately  turned  my  back  upon 
him.  Ethel  loved  him  best  when  the  world  despised 
him  most.  Now  that  I  am  groping  after  the  higher 
law  shall  I  degrade  myself  still  further  by  substituting 
flesh  for  spirit,  a  legal  fiction  for  an  eternal  law  of  the 
soul?" 

"Just  a  moment,  Mara,"  the  father  interrupted — • 
"there  are  three  children  involved,  they  cannot  plead 
for  themselves — 

"I  know,"  she  broke  in,  "that  is  the  usual  senti 
mental  plea,  but  I  don't  think  children  would  honor  a 
father,  who  lived  a  lie  to  satisfy  a  false  standard  of 
life.  We  are  not  cattle  to  be  herded  for  the  convenience 
of  a  decadent  public!" 

"Of  course,"  the  father  broke  in  again,  "if  you  have 
ceased  to  love  Stephen — 

' '  Stop  ! ' '  she  answered.  ' '  I  love  him  as  I  never  loved 
him  before,  I  love  him  with  my  soul,  my  mind,  my  love 
burns  like  a  flame  for  him,  I  love  him  because  he  is  what 
he  is,  not  because  of  what  he  could  be  to  me.  I  love 
him  too  well  to  stand  in  his  way.  I  want  to  clear  away 
the  impedimenta  that  has  blocked  his  way,  stunted  his 
growth  and  broken  his  heart!" 


A  MIDNIGHT  CONFERENCE  267 

That  was  as  far  as  she  could  go  with  words.  She 
sobbed  the  rest,  and  every  sob  was  a  wrench  not  only 
at  her  own  heart,  but  at  the  hearts  of  all.  They  were 
thrilled  with  her  passionate  earnestness  and  unalterable 
position.  Each  of  the  others  knew  that  whatever  they 
said  would  be  tame  compared  to  the  fire  of  her  appeal. 
Her  sobs  at  first  precluded  any  further  discussion. 
Ethel  Ainsworth  moved  her  seat  beside  Madeline  and 
sat  with  her  arm  around  her  shoulder.  As  the  con 
vulsive  sobs  subsided  she  said : 

' '  "We  must  bare  our  souls  to  the  truth.  Nothing  must 
stand  between,  nothing  must  intervene.  I  never  told 
Stephen  Ruclen  that  I  loved  him,  but  he  knows  I  do. 
He  never  told  me  that  he  loved  me,  but  I  know  he  does. 
Now,  if  we  three  and  the  three  children  were  the  only 
ones  concerned,  the  matter  of  readjustment  would  be 
simple.  "We  could  even  defy  public  opinion,  but  there's 
something  bigger  than  all  these  combined,  something 
Madeline  has  forgotten,  something  she  is  as  devoted  to 
as  I  am,  as  her  husband  is." 

"What's  that?"  Madeline  asked  impatiently. 

''The  cause  of  the  people!" 

' '  I  don 't  see  how  the  cause  of  the  people  would  suffer 
by  a  man  living  his  own  life." 

"I  think  you  will  if  you  reflect  a  moment.  A  Chris 
tian  may  commit  rape,  arson  or  murder  without  a  hint 
that  the  act  is  even  remotely  connected  with  Chris 
tianity.  A  Republican  may  be  an  atheist  or  a  notorious 
grafter  without  his  specialty  being  charged  to  his  party, 
but  the  moment  a  Socialist  deviates  a  hair's  breadth 
from  either  good  laws  or  bad  ones,  custom,  tradition,  or 
superstition  the  deviation  is  forthwith  charged  to  So 
cialism.  Now,  Socialism  is  a  body  of  truth.  "We  are 
the  custodians  of  it.  AVe  come  and  go,  we  are  tran- 


268  THE  MAGYAR 

sients,  the  movement  is  eternal.  "We  are  big  as  we  make 
it  big,  insignificant  as  we  lessen  its  power,  or  impede 
its  progress." 

Miss  Ainsworth  grew  calmer  as  she  proceeded.  As 
she  spoke  the  face  of  Stephen  Ruden  grew  pale.  lie 
looked  like  a  man  who  had  gone  through  a  great  siege 
of  illness.  A  new  agony  was  on  his  heart.  He  had  sat 
by  the  deathbed  of  many  a  hope,  many  an  aspiration, 
but  none  that  seemed  to  take  the  ground  from  beneath 
his  feet  as  this  one.  He  had  never  felt  quite  so  human. 
He  would  have  been  willing  to  confess  that.  This  new 
inquisition  was  more  poignant  than  all  that  preceded 
it.  It  was  like  tearing  his  heart  out  by  the  roots. 
These  two  women  might  talk  all  night,  but  he  knew 
that  he  must  say  the  final  word.  Vainly  he  listened  for 
a  word  that  would  minister  to  his  human  life,  the  hu 
man  side  of  him  that  had  been  so  starved,  but  the  word 
came  not.  He  had  two  pathways  before  him.  He 
could  not  travel  in  both  at  the  same  time,  and  he  must 
choose  one  of  them  now.  In  the  conflict  the  idealist  di 
minished,  the  human  man  grew  large.  It  was  hardly 
to  be  expected  that  in  such  a  battle  of  cross  purposes 
he  would  say  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time,  or  even 
say  the  right  thing  at  all. 

"Besides,"  he  said,  as  Miss  Ainsworth  made  a  mo 
mentary  halt,  "whatever  we  may  think  of  the  higher 
law,  or  however  we  may  act  in  conformity  with  it, 
Madeline  has  said  nothing  that  would  stand  in  a  court 
of  law." 

The  words  hit  both  women  in  the  same  way.  They 
were  both  stunned  for  a  moment.  Madeline  crossed  the 
room,  took  a  hand  bag  from  beneath  her  jacket,  opened 
and  took  from  it  a  bundle  of  letters  compactly  arranged. 

"The  letter  of  my  marriage  vow  I  have  never  vio- 


A  MIDNIGHT  CONFERENCE  269 

lated, ' '  she  said,  as  she  handed  him  the  bundle,  ' '  but  the 
spirit  of  it  I  have  broken  a  thousand  times.  As  courts 
do  not  deal  with  spiritual  matters  I  have  here  legal 
evidence  that  will  make  you  free." 

He  held  the  bundle  in  his  hand  for  a  moment  in  si 
lence.  By  a  movement  as  quick  as  thought  Miss  Ains- 
worth  snatched  the  bundle  from  his  grasp  and  stuffed 
it  into  the  stove  at  the  end  of  the  room.  As  she  closed 
the  stove  door  she  turned  her  back  to  it  as  if  to  stand 
guard  over  the  burning. 

Stephen  Ruden  looked  at  her.  "I  wish  you  had 
given  me  a  chance  to  recover  from  my  weakness," 
he  said,  "but  maybe  it  is  just  as  well." 

"It  is  getting  late,"  the  old  man  said,  looking  at  his 
son. 

"Yes,"  Stephen  said,  "we  can't  stay  here  all  night, 
but  we  must  talk  it  out.  Madeline  speaks  of  making 
me  free." 

"Don't  argue,  Stephen,"  Madeline  broke  in,  "there  is 
no  time  and  we  do  not  need  it.  You  know  what  I 
mean,  I  am  fighting  for  you  now." 

"I  know,  dear,  but  you  must  fight  fair,  fair  to  your 
self,  fair  to  the  children,  fair  to  the  movement  to  which 
we  have  dedicated  our  lives." 

"And  fail1,  just  for  a  change,  to  you!"  she  added. 

"Well,  here  are  three  of  us,"  Ruden  said,  "obsessed 
with  that  most  powerful  of  all  passions — love.  I  know 
of  no  law  of  God  or  man  to  prevent  me  loving  what  and 
whomsoever  I  please.  Love  is  imperative,  it  overrides 
all  reason,  sweeps  aside  all  obstacles.  It  lifts  man's 
soul  out  of  the  sordid  depths  and  places  it  beside  God. 
It  partakes  of  the  essence  of  deity.  It  relates  man  to 
the  stars,  to  flowers  and  to  angels.  Now  I  can  take  a 
divine  thing  like  that  and  let  it  transform  me  into  a 


270  THE  MAGYAR 

fiend !  Or  I  can  so  let  it  transfuse  my  being,  touch  my 
speech,  wing  my  words  that  the  thing  I  stand  for  will 
be  lifted  to  whatever  height  I  ascend !  I  have  to  choose, 
I  must  choose  now.  It  is  one  thing  to  love,  it  is  another 
thing  to  express  that  love.  The  time  may  come  when 
society  will  give  love  larger  expression  in  matters  of 
sex,  but  just  now  the  limitations  arc  well  defined.  We 
have  had  a  galaxy  of  star  souls  who  defied  laws  and 
customs,  and  gave  free  rein  to  love,  but  these  men  and 
women  never  took  much  interest  in  the  laws  which  bore 
down  heavily  on  the  backs  of  the  poor.  They  smashed 
the  status  quo.  I  am  an  evolutionist.  I  think  we  must 
suffer  together  until  we  are  liberated  together.  For 
one  man  or  one  woman  to  defy  the  world  and  set  up  a 
law  for  themselves  is  Anarchy.  Socialism  moves  en 
masse ! ' ' 

"It's  a  question  then,"  said  the  old  man,  "as  to  how 
to  move,  is  it?" 

"Of  course." 

"Then  we  shall  move  en  inassc,"  Ethel  said,  rising 
and  taking  her  place  beside  Madeline. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

LIGHT    AFTER    DARKNESS 

NEARLY  a  year  after  the  meeting  in  the  dingy  room  in 
New  York,  Zap  sat  on  the  veranda  of  the  old  house  at 
Brook  Farm.  linden  considered  it  a  stroke  of  great 
luck  that  he  was  able  to  secure  a  legal  title  to  it.  The 
old  man  had  one  of  the  children  on  his  knee.  The 
story  he  was  telling  her  was  interrupted  by  the  en 
trance,  through  the  little  front  gate,  of  a  stranger. 

."Mr.  Ruden  is  not  in,"  Zap  said  in  answer  to  his 
inquiry. 

"My  name  is  Philip  Bauerman, "  the  stranger  said. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Zap  said,  taking  him  a  second  time  by  the 
hand,  "Your  name  is  a  household  word  here." 

"Mr.  Ruden  and  I  are  good  friends,"  he  said. 

"Good,  is  hardly  the  word,  but  it  will  do  for  the 
present." 

"I  am  anxious  to  know  how  things  are  with  Mr.  Ru 
den  and  Mrs.  Ruden — you  know  what  I  mean." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,  of  course."  Then  he  turned  to 
the  little  girl,  "Now,  dear,"  he  said  gently,  "you  will 
just  skip  off  for  a  while — won't  you — I  want  to  talk 
to  your  father's  friend." 

The  child  hesitated.  She  looked  appealingly  at  the 
old  man  for  a  moment,  then  threw  her  arms  around  his 
neck  and  wept.  "I  want  to  know,  too,  about  Mrs.  Ru 
den,"  she  sobbed. 

"My  darling,"  he  said  softly,  "I  have  promised  that 
she  is  coming,  and  may  be  to-morrow ! ' ' 

271 


272  THE  MAGYAR 

"It's  more'n  a  hundred  years,  since  you  said  she  was 
coming,  grandpa." 

The  old  man  stroked  her  hair  and  wiped  away  her 
tears.  "I  know,  dear,  it's  a  long  time,  but  you  must 
run  away  now,  just  for  a  little  while  and  we  will  talk 
it  over  by  and  by." 

AVhen  the  child  disappeared,  he  began  reluctantly  to 
tell  the  story  of  the  year. 

"Despite  the  firm  pronunciamenta  of  Stephen,"  he 
said,  "Madeline  refused  to  give  in.  She  went  to  ex 
tremes  in  her  efforts  to  disgust  him  and  to  create  public 
opinion  against  herself.  She  forged  several  small 
checks,  and  despite  Stephen's  efforts  to  free  her,  sho 
was  sent  to  the  Island  for  six  months;  she  is  there  now. 
Miss  Ainsworth  is  now  abroad  and  will  remain  there 
indefinitely." 

Just  then  the  child  darted  through  the  front  gate  and 
was  caught  up  in  the  arms  of  her  father. 

"There  comes  Stephen,"  Zap  said,  "and  I  will  leave 
the  rest  to  him." 

The  meeting  between  Ruden  and  Bauerman  was  an 
affectionate  one.  They  had  both  been  traveling  a  Via 
Dolorosa  unknown  to  most  men.  So  knit  together  were 
they  that  even  Zap  seemed  an  intrusion.  Back  of  every 
thing  they  had  ever  said  to  each  other  there  remained 
much  to  be  said — much  that  merely  lacked  opportunity 
to  say  it. 

"AYe  have  heard  something  of  your  ordeal,"  Stephen 
said.  "But  come  over  here  under  the  tree  and  tell  us 
about  it." 

"I  became  young  Oglethorpe's  tutor,"  Philip  began, 
"and  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  back  of  every  thought 
in  his  mind — nothing  was  hidden.  I  was  best  man  at 
the  wedding.  It  pained  me  to  hurt  the  Governor's 


LIGHT  AFTER  DARKNESS  273 

niece,  but  it  was  inevitable ;  sin  is  not  individual,  it  is 
social,  no  man  liveth  unto  himself. 

"As  the  bride  came  up  the  center  aisle  to  the  strains 
of  the  wedding  march,  I  left  the  groom  and  joined 
Celia,  my  sister.  She  was  as  pale  as  death.  Her  babe 
was  in  her  arms.  Oglethorpe  stood  before  the  altar 
terror  stricken.  The  preacher  was  a  hireling,  but  I  got 
him.  Two  of  'Lone  Star's'  neighbors — desperate  men 
—were  on  hand,  armed. 

"As  the  music  ceased  I  faced  the  audience,  and  in 
a  couple  of  sentences  told  the  story.  'Lhvellyii  Ogle 
thorpe,'  I  said,  'You  shall  fulfill  your  promise  to  my 
sister  now  and  give  your  ignoble  name  to  her  child  or 
pay  the  penalty  ! ' 

"The  silence  of  death  reigned  for  a  moment.  The 
bride,  to  be,  fainted  and  was  carried  out.  He  made  a 
move,  but  I  whispered  in  a  low  voice,  'I  will  shoot  you 
dead  if  you  make  another  move.'  The  coward  bowed 
his  head,  accepted  the  situation,  and  the  minister  pro 
ceeded. 

"After  the  ceremony  I  took  Celia  one  way  and  he 
went  another.  Next  morning  he  had  departed  to  parts 
unknown  with  the  girl  he  could  not  make  his  wife." 

"Then  you  broke  down,"  Stephen  said,  as  the  youth 
seemed  to  end  the  narrative. 

"Yes,  so  did  poor  Celia,  and  AVC  lay  at  death's  door 
for  months." 

"It  Avas  a  terrible  ordeal,  Philip,"  Zap  ventured  Avith 
a  sigh. 

"I  wouldn't  do  it  again,"  Philip  said.  "The  young 
rake  Avas  a  mere  product  of  the  times,  a  lazy,  lecherous 
character  and  neither  better  nor  Avorse  than  tens  of 
thousands  of  his  kind  who  live  on  the  blood  of  the 
poor. ' ' 


274  THE  MAGYAR 

"What  would  you  do  in  a  case  of  this  kind?"  asked 
Zap. 

"Apply  whatever  law  there  is,  of  course,  but  we  go  on 
eternally  considering  the  grist  instead  of  the  mill.  Just 
imagine  a  group  of  lecherous  parasites  like  Oglethorpe 
giving  color  and  tone  to  a  university  whose  motto  is 
"Lux  et  Veritas?"  The  church,  the  schools,  and  the 
university,  are  the  bulwarks  of  the  system — teachers, 
preachers,  and  almoners  are  the  hirelings  of  an  unjust 
order  and  will  remain  so  until  the  upheaval  comes! 
Oglethorpe  is  the  sort  of  thing  they  produce." 

"We  will  not  discuss  that  until  we  have  gone  over 
things  more  momentous  to  us  both,  Philip." 

"Tell  me,  Stephen,  what  about  Madeline?" 

"I  want  you  to  go  with  me  to  meet  her  to-morrow. 
Her  sufferings  have  not  only  revolutionized  her  men 
tally,  but  they  have  transfigured  her  person — Philip, 
she  has  the  fire  in  her  eyes  that  men  saw  in  the  martyrs 
at  the  stake.  Her  tongue  is  tipped  with  fire.  She 
will  be  a  power — a  Joan  of  Arc — in  the  movement." 

"Is  she  coming  home?"  Philip  inquired. 

"I  think  so,  but  I  am  not  sure,  and  I  dare  not  argue 
with  her." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  stand  in  awe  before  such  a  spiritual  power." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  men  gazed  into  va 
cancy. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of  Philip?"  Ruden  asked. 

"I  was  questioning,  as  I  have  done  a  thousand  times 
before,  of  our  methods  and  motives  of  reform. ' ' 

' '  You  wonder  whether  the  game  is  worth  the  candle  ? ' ' 

"Well,  is  it?  We  are  asking  for  a  more  equitable 
distribution  of  wealth,  but  do  we  expect  that  future 
holders  of  Earth's  goods  will  be  different  from  the 


LIGHT  AFTER  DARKNESS  275 

present?  We  agree  that  the  rich  are  crass — that  their 
life  is  vulgar,  but  what  guarantee  have  we  that  a  re 
distribution  will  be  accompanied  by  a  higher  morality  ? ' ' 

"Philip,  you  talk  like  a  university  professor!" 

"Is  theft  justified  because  the  thief  is  a  slick  phi 
lanthropist  who  divides  his  plunder  with  the  church?" 
,  "No,  of  course  not." 

"What  was  stolen  from  your  father?  Merely  part 
of  what  he  earned  in  the  most  brutal  labor?  No,  he 
was  robbed  of  life  and  yet  with  that  terrific  example  in 
front  of  you  you  ask  other  boys'  fathers  for  guarantees 
of  morality!" 

"Pardon  me,  Philip,  you  said  the  universities  pro 
duced — if  they  produce  anything — types  of  minds  like 
young  Oglethorpe's,  but  are  you  sure  that  your  method 
of  reasoning  is  not  also  a  university  product  ?  It  is  a 
species  of  casuistry  that  always  leaves  a  balance  to  the 
credit  of  the  rich,  the  strong,  the  masters;  the  church, 
the  university,  and  the  courts  have  practised  that  subtle 
deceit  upon  the  masses  of  the  people  for  centuries. 
When  a  preacher  refuses  to  bend  his  neck  he  is  thrown 
out.  The  same  thing  happens  to  a  professor  who  does 
a  little  thinking  on  his  own  account. 

"Now  we  have  taken  up  the  mottos  which  the  Chris 
tians  have  abandoned.  'Thou  shalt  not  kill;  thou  shalt 
not  steal;  if  a  man  shall  not  work  neither  shall  he  eat, 
and  man  shall  earn  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  own  face. ' 
Philip,  we  shall  make  that  old  Bible  live,  we  will  rub 
it  into  every  statute,  every  state,  every  phase  of  life, 
and  wouldn't  it  be  funny  if  some  day  when  the  Com 
monwealth  is  in  full  swing  we  had  to  turn  the  militia 
out  to  force  the  Christians  to  accept  its  teachings?" 

"You  see,"  broke  in  the  old  man,  "that  Stephen  has 
his  new  order  whittled  out  to  a  fine  point." 


276  THE  MAGYAR 

"You  are  mistaken,  father,  I  am  afraid  of  the  man 
who  knows  what  the  future  holds  in  store.  Each  age 
will  work  out  its  own  problems.  Ours  has  been  largely 
sword,  but  even  now  we  are  finding  use  for  the  trowel. 
AVe  must  build  up  where  we  tear  down,  and  whatsoever 
things  are  true,  just,  helpful  and  of  good  report  will 
stand  forever." 

Next  day  in  the  late  afternoon  Stephen  Ruden  and 
his  young  friend  stood  by  the  edge  of  the  East  River 
in  the  northern  part  of  New  York  City.  They  had  been 
watching  a  point  on  the  opposite  shore,  for  nearly  an 
hour,  when  a  white  boat  shot  her  nose  out  into  the 
stream. 

"Oh!"  the  men  exclaimed  in  unison. 

Then  Ruden  sighed.  Neither  of  them  spoke  for  fully 
five  minutes.  Ruden  had  a  field  glass,  and  was  search 
ing  the  deck  of  the  on-coming  steamer.  He  handed  the 
glass  to  Philip.  Nothing  of  interest  was  discerned  by 
either  of  them.  It  was  a  journey  of  fifteen  minutes, 
but  it  seemed  an  hour  to  the  men  on  watch.  The 
steamer  took  a  sudden  turn  to  port  and  in  a  few  min 
utes  the  deck  hands  had  cast  their  hawsers  and  made 
her  fast ;  then  it  was  that  the  two  men  discovered  the 
object  of  their  search. 

A  motley  throng  filed  silently  down  the  gang  plank. 
There  were  men  ragged,  unkempt  wastrels,  who  had 
taken  that  trip  before.  There  were  women  with  little 
shawls  wrapped  tightly  around  their  heads,  and  younger 
women  of  the  dcmi  monde  class  who  held  their  heads 
defiantly  high  and  on  their  powdered  faces  a  challenge 
bore !  At  the  end  of  the  sad  procession  came  Madeline 
Ruden  to  meet  a  different  reception. 

Stephen  caught  her  in  his  arms  the  moment  she  left 
the  plank.  AVhat  he  said  as  he  held  her  there  is  not 


LIGHT  AFTER  DARKNESS  277 

for  me  to  repeat,  but  it  was  evident  that  the  fight  was 
over. 

Arm  in  arm  they  came  away  from  the  dock  where  a 
curious  crowd  had  singled  them  out  for  special  scru 
tiny.  Their  faces  were  shining  with  ineffable  joy. 

"I  wish  you  could  share  in  a  larger  measure  this  re 
vival  of  life,"  Mrs.  Ruden  said  to  Philip. 

"I  hope  to  get  a  little  of  it  by  reflection,"  Philip  said. 

"How?"  Stephen  asked. 

"Ethel  Ainsworth  lands  to-morrow  and  we  are  to 
spend  the  evening  together!" 

The  Rudcns  looked  at  each  other  and  then  at  Philip. 
There  was  a  look  on  his  face  that  neither  volunteered 
information  nor  brooked  interrogation.  It  startled  him 
as  much  to  say  what  he  did  as  it  did  the  Rudens  to 
hear  it. 

An  hour  later  the  Rudens  sat  closely  together,  in  an 
express  train  that  carried  them  rapidly  to  New  Oxford 
and  Brook  Farm.  Life  was  just  beginning  for  them. 
Ahead  lay  service  and  the  joy  of  comradeship. 

"I  saw  a  beautiful  thought  flit  across  your  face, 
dear,"  Ruden  said.  "AYhat  is  it?" 

"A  quotation  that  came  to  me,  over  there,  in  the 
darkness, 

"  'Love  took  up  the  harp  of  life, 

And  smote  on  all  its  chords  with  might, 
Smote  the  chord  of  self,  that  trembling, 
Passed  in  music  out  of  sight.' " 


3  1158  01131  5198 


A     000  032  950     8 


